


You, In Every Lifetime

by phichithamsters



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (in a way), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, different last names, past Edelbert, the author took many liberties in writing reincarnation lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phichithamsters/pseuds/phichithamsters
Summary: So not only was Ferdinand studying interpersonal relationships, but he was studying them across the ages, which to some, including his friends, sounded a bit like the theory of “reincarnation.”Which, when explained at a comprehensive level, might seem a bit preposterous— Ferdinand understands this. But no scholar in the history of the Empire has studied the royal families like he has, the ties and entanglements that kept people together for hundreds, if not thousands of years.Sometimes, Ferdinand’s hunches are just little feelings, like reading a story of two advisors who lived identical lives almost a thousand years apart, or seeing familiar faces in Court portraits. And sometimes, it’s just meeting a huffy man on a bench who refuses to say a single nice thing to Ferdinand, even when he pays for both of their drinks.Ferdinand meets a stranger and, in turn, discovers one of the greatest mysteries of all time.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 23
Kudos: 91
Collections: Ferdibert Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Ferdibert Week day 7: Alternate Timelines. This piece can be read as a oneshot, but it is going to eventually serve as the first chapter of a longer fic! Please read the end notes for more information.
> 
> Thank you to my two betas, [pep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk) and [elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinso/pseuds/shinso) for their help in bringing the characters to life (and also helping me wrangle Ferdinand's preposturous noble voice).

Ferdinand is minding his own business when the grumpiest man on the entire planet sits down next to him. 

Or, that’s how Ferdinand will tell it to his friends later— over drinks and soft pretzels as he recounts his strange encounter— but for the moment, Ferdinand knows nothing of the man who plops down on the very same bench that he himself sits under the shade of a scarlet oak tree. 

“Um… good day?” Ferdinand asks, warily testing the waters of communication. It’s a sunny afternoon on his college campus, and since Ferdinand has occupied this bench first, he presumes that he should at least be afforded the luxury of introductions with anyone who decides to join him. 

The sullen-looking man turns his head slowly to regard Ferdinand, as if the sound of another person’s voice is the first indication that the bench had been occupied when he sat down. The stranger is dressed almost entirely in black, save for a pair of tiny gold earrings Ferdinand can see glinting in the sunlight, and his hair is a dark mop on his head, almost obscuring one of his eyes. 

He scans the length of Ferdinand’s body with his uncovered eye, almost meticulously so, and Ferdinand feels a bit uncomfortable as his gaze lingers on his face. 

But the mysterious man doesn’t say anything yet, he just turns away from Ferdinand and sighs rather mightily. 

“I’m sorry, have I offended you in some way?” Ferdinand asks, loudly, in the hopes that any other students passing by might hear. His pride is, at the very least, wounded, and he could use some backup if he is going to make a  _ scene.  _

To his surprise, the man laughs. It’s not a very pleasant sound, a low chuckle that sounds more sinister than joyful, but Ferdinand recognizes it as a laugh nonetheless. 

“Here I was, trying to enjoy some solitude on a bench, but it seems I have found the most talkative student at the university,” the man says, sarcasm dripping from his voice like poisoned honey. Ferdinand has half a mind to slap him. 

“Excuse me,  _ sir _ , but you sat down on my bench—“

“Do you personally own this bench?”

“—Well I was sitting here first!” Ferdinand is seething at being interrupted, and while he knows his logic will win him no debates, a man can’t help but defend himself when he’s being affronted. 

“I’m terribly sorry, then, Mr…. what did you say your name was?” the man asks. 

Ferdinand rolls his eyes. “Ferdinand Baker. As if it matters to you.”

“Nonsense, I always like to personally address the people I have  _ offended,”  _ the man says. 

The gall of this person, to sit down on Ferdinand’s bench, and to take offense when Ferdinand tries to strike up a simple conversation. Who does he think he is?

“And who might you be?” Ferdinand asks, so that he may set the record straight. 

“Hubert. Rolfe, if you prefer surnames.”

Ferdinand scowls at this  _ Hubert.  _ He’s so pretentious, even his name sounds stuck up. 

“Surnames,” he scoffs. “Who calls them ‘surnames’ anymore? Just use ‘last name,’ like the rest of us.”

Hubert, clearly unsullied by Ferdinand’s vicious insult, simply crosses one leg over the other like an old Victorian butler and snickers. “I sat down because I thought you were a man of class, one who would not disturb my musings.” His eyes flick back to Ferdinand for just a moment. “My mistake.”

And because Ferdinand will not have his honor affronted like  _ that,  _ he gasps quite dramatically and turns fully on the bench to face the other man. “I am too a  _ man of class. _ I am of noble blood. Classiness  _ runs through my very veins. _ ”

Hubert rolls his eyes. “I have had a terribly tiring day today, and bickering with the likes of you is the last thing I would like to do.” He rubs his temples with two slender fingers. “Now, please, if you would just let me sit in peace.”

Maybe Hubert is not falling for Ferdinand’s bluff, or maybe he is simply telling the truth— Ferdinand doesn't have the read on him like he would prefer. But, Ferdinand decides, the best way to end this argument is by simply being himself (and ignoring Hubert’s wishes).

So he stands up, brushes off his grey slacks with his hands in two sure strokes, and loops his satchel over his shoulder. “I will show you just how  _ classy _ I am, Mr. Rolfe,” Ferdinand says, and holds out his hand. “Come. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

Hubert regards Ferdinand’s outstretched hand for a moment, not unlike one would regard a venomous snake, before sighing loudly ( _ again _ ). 

He doesn’t take Ferdinand’s hand, but he does stand up off of the bench. “Perhaps I am in such a state that I don’t feel like arguing with you any more,” he says, and then picks up his 19th century briefcase (what kind of undergrad carries around a  _ briefcase,  _ for Goddess’ sake). The buckles are of a rusty gold color, and Hubert snaps them shut with long fingers. 

“I’ll join you. Come on, then,” he says, and then: “And please, don’t call me Mr. Rolfe.”

—

The real reason Ferdinand wants to get Hubert alone in a cafe is not because he needs to defend his honor, even though that was a large motivator. No, the reason Ferdinand extended his hand to the grumpy man on the bench is because he  _ felt drawn to him.  _

Now, Ferdinand Baker is first and foremost a scholar. He studies history, psychology, and anthropology at Garreg Mach University, one of the premier institutions in all of Adrestria. Even better than a triple major, though, Ferdinand has created his own major of study, something interdisciplinary, which he and his advisor have called “The Study of Interpersonal Relationships Through the Ages.”

Nowhere else would Ferdinand’s family money be spent to have Ferdinand study something as trivial and inconsequential as “Interpersonal Relationships Through the Ages,” but here, at Garreg Mach University, Ferdinand is able to research what he pleases and still graduate with a Bachelor’s of Arts. So what Ferdinand does is, in fact, study. 

His interest took seed while researching the great founders of the Adrestrian Empire in his early freshman days, as that had always been a subject of curiosity. Originally a single history major, he had been assigned many readings into the more nuanced histories of the Empire’s past. As his reading took him further into the political intrigue and entanglement of much of the empire’s royal family, Ferdinand grew more and more intrigued by the stories that played out, time and time again, within the courts. 

Before his sophomore year, Ferdinand had created a complex timeline of political rivalries, genealogies, and relationships than had ever been created before (mostly due to the lack of need for such a thing). But Ferdinand’s studies were so deep and rich that at times he felt like he was himself a part of those courts, the ones with the storied names he had read time and time again by lamplight, way past the library’s closing hours. 

And as his college years went on, Ferdinand would see the same petty dramatics, the same dry conflicts played out in his own life as the ones he’d read about in the private diaries of the twelfth empress of Adrestria, or the journals of the Foreign Minister. It was like Ferdinand was living out century-old court antics in his 21st-century lifestyle, and it  _ fascinated  _ him. 

So not only was Ferdinand studying interpersonal relationships, but he was studying them across the ages, which to some, including his friends, sounded a bit like the theory of “reincarnation.” 

Which, when explained at a comprehensive level, might seem a bit preposterous— Ferdinand understands this. But no scholar in the history of the Empire has studied the royal families like he has, the ties and entanglements that kept people together for hundreds, if not thousands of years. 

Sometimes, Ferdinand’s hunches are just little feelings, like reading a story of two advisors who lived identical lives almost a thousand years apart, or seeing familiar faces in Court portraits. And sometimes, it’s just meeting a huffy man on a bench who refuses to say a single nice thing to Ferdinand, even when he pays for both of their drinks. 

So he doesn’t invite Hubert to coffee to defend his honor, or even just to be nice. Ferdinand has a  _ feeling.  _

“Tea? Who orders  _ tea _ at a coffee shop?” Hubert practically balks when Ferdinand picks up his order from the counter, a steaming cup of Southern Fruit Blend. 

“Please, drink your hot bean water that I paid for and keep insulting  _ me,”  _ Ferdinand snaps back. 

He leads them to a table in the center of the coffee shop, with hardwood legs, uneven from frequent use. The chairs squeak against the shiny wood floors, but the other patrons are used to it. 

The cafe is a favorite among Garreg Mach students, as it’s fairly close to campus, offers food that can substitute for a meal, and doesn’t play music with words. The tables are small, but there are a lot of them, so students come from all over to spread out their laptops and notebooks and tablets across as much space as possible and then park themselves there for hours. It is rare that Ferdinand himself comes here for a cup of tea that is not followed by hours of rigorous study. 

Hubert sips his coffee, and then says, “I’ve never been here before.” Ferdinand almost snorts into his tea. 

Figures. Ferdinand spends more time in this cafe than his apartment, and he’s never seen the man. 

“Prefer the library?” he asks, the tone of his voice even but mildly insulting. 

Hubert sets down his cup, clasping his hands over his crossed legs. “No,” he says. “I prefer the solitude of the departmental office, or my own personal quarters.”

Ferdinand stifles another scoff, because Hubert speaks like he’s from the 16th century. But he’s not being unfriendly, so Ferdinand decides to be civil as well. 

“What do you study?” he asks, taking a delicate sip of his tea. 

“Politics,” Hubert says. “And biology.”

“Odd combination,” Ferdinand points out. 

Hubert shrugs. “Perhaps. I was pre-medical for a while, before I decided I wanted to also study science of a political kind.” He smirks a bit at his own joke. 

“Why?” Ferdinand asks. He’s intrigued now. What kind of career is there for someone who is studying biology and political science? 

(Although, Ferdinand has little room to talk, studying  _ interpersonal relationships through the ages  _ and all.) 

Hubert lifts his shoulders again, as if he is simply privy to the whims of some other creature, controlling his decisions like a puppeteer. “I have always had an interest in politics. My father was a political advisor, before he passed.”

“Oh? I did not know of a Rolfe in the Adrestrian Parliament,” Ferdinand replies.

Hubert smiles. “You would not have heard of him. His work was more…  _ behind the scenes _ , we shall say.”

“I see.” 

“Behind the scenes” was most likely a thinly veiled code for “undercover operations,” or, political going-ons that would not have to be approved by the Parliament, or even the Chancellor, for that matter.

Well, that might explain Hubert’s love of biology, but his hesitancy to become a doctor. 

“And yourself?” Hubert asks.

“Hm?” Ferdinand is not paying attention to the question at all the moment Hubert asks it. 

“And yourself?” he repeats. “What do you study?”

“Ah. I was hoping you’d ask.” Ferdinand sets down his tea cup on the saucer and crosses his hands in front of him, elbows on the table. “I too am studying multiple majors, but I have to say, I have three that I’m currently tackling.”

Hubert does not take the bait, other than a simple, “Oh?” and a raised eyebrow.

Ferdinand continues. “I started off with history, but I’m also studying anthropology and psychology. I’ve created my own major, actually.”

“So you technically have only one major,” Hubert says, annoyingly smug.

“That does not lessen the course load!” Ferdinand says, defending himself and his rigorous academic studies. “If anything, it is more challenging to create a major completely from scratch, rather than simply follow some course guidelines the University gives you.”

“Perhaps,” Hubert says, revealing how little he agrees with Ferdinand. Well, no matter. If Hubert doesn’t understand how impressive Ferdinand’s studies are, he will soon. Besides, Ferdinand had not spent $3.35 on black coffee just to have an academic dick-measuring competition with Hubert, even though Ferdinand can and will win.

“Perhaps,” Ferdinand echoes. “But I have combined my  _ three majors—”  _ emphasis on three, “—into an interdisciplinary degree on the Study of Interpersonal Relationships Through the Ages. I’m currently writing my thesis on the Adrestrian courts.” 

Hubert raises one long eyebrow. “Interpersonal relationships… through the ages? You may have to explain.”

Ferdinand taps his chin, mostly for show. “Well, it all began when I was studying the early Adrestrian courts, back at the founding of the continental empire, in 1186—”

“Must I endure a history lesson to understand your major?” Hubert interrupts, quite rudely. 

Ferdinand shoots him a look. “Yes. It is all very important,” he says, and ignores Hubert’s palpable eye roll. “As I was saying: there isn’t much known about the first Adrestrian courts after the great war that unified Fodlan, but I began researching the early courts when I first came to college.

“It started out as a fun hobby— while I was researching the politics of the time, I would also read court gossip, just for fun. Much of it was written down and preserved, surprisingly.” 

(Ferdinand looks out of the corner of his eye to make sure Hubert is still paying attention while he monologues. He is, so Ferdinand continues.)

“While I was entertained by the stories, I began to notice patterns. Certain political rivalries would be played out over multiple generations, but over time, it seemed like the same stories were being told, over and over again. It wasn’t always members of the same families; sometimes, it was completely unrelated strangers, but the narratives were the same.

“It took a lot of research and many, many late nights to start to see these patterns,” Ferdinand says. “But if I looked closely enough, instead of multiple conflicts being played out over centuries, it began to look like one single conflict that was being rehashed, redone, and redrawn over hundreds of generations.”

Pause for effect. This is his big hook— his catch that leaves his audience thirsty for more. He has practiced this speech too many times in front of a mirror in order to explain his atypical field of study, so many times, in fact, that he can recite it while drunk.

(And he has a few times at parties, because students at Garreg Mach University usually only have one pick-up line, and it’s, “What’s your major?”)

“And what is this conflict?” Hubert asks. 

Ferdinand smiles widely, because that’s exactly what he had hoped Hubert would ask. “That’s what my senior thesis is on,” he says, smugly. 

“I see,” Hubert says. He regards Ferdinand for a moment. “And these… _interpersonal_ _relationships_ , as you call them, why are they important?”

Hm. Here comes the hard part. Ferdinand keeps his smile on and hopes it’s good enough to charm Hubert into believing his next words. 

“Well… let’s just say, the conflicts are not the only things that are similar about these people. I believe… well, I believe that they are the same people, living out their same lives in different ages.”

For a moment, Hubert doesn’t say anything, like he’s thinking deeply about Ferdinand’s theory. Like maybe, he might be able to see how this could possibly be—

“So, reincarnation,” Hubert says, and then he breaks into a grin himself, but it’s a far cry from charming. “And here I thought you were a real scholar,  _ Ferdinand _ .”

The way Hubert says his name stings, but Ferdinand has been in this position more times than he can count. Hubert isn’t the first person who has told him he’s crazy, but Hubert  _ is  _ the first person he’s felt a connection to like  _ this. _

And if Ferdinand is a scholar, like he himself claims, then he can’t let Hubert slip away. 

“Well, it’s been a nice conversation,” Hubert says, pushing back his chair. “But I don’t have time for fantastical theories about reincarnation—“

“Wait! Please,” Ferdinand says, swallowing his pride with an outstretched hand. Hubert pauses, halfway out of his seat with his coffee cup in hand, but he doesn’t move. 

“Just, give me a few more minutes,” Ferdinand asks. “Hear me out.”

Hubert sighs, and then checks his watch, and then, miraculously, he sits back down. 

“I invited you to coffee today because I felt like we had a connection.”

Hubert raises both eyebrows, and Ferdinand realizes how much he sounds like he’s flirting. 

Okay. Try again. “Not like that,” he says, and Hubert’s shoulders relax an almost imperceptible amount. “I felt… like I had met you before, in some other lifetime.”

Hubert begins to roll his eyes. 

“— _ And before you roll your eyes! _ ” Ferdinand shouts, startling some studying students nearby. He lowers his voice. “Before you  _ roll your eyes,  _ this isn’t a feeling I have experienced before. It’s like…”

Ferdinand struggles for the correct words. “It’s like I can feel my research. All of the effects of the  _ reincarnations—“ _ he lowers his voice when he says the word, lest he embarrass himself and Hubert further, “—everything. It’s like I’m feeling what they felt. The old Adrestrians.”

Ferdinand finishes speaking, but does not let go of his breath. He has laid all of his cards on the table, and now all he has to do is wait for Hubert’s response. 

It’s a terrible thing that Ferdinand has always been impatient. 

It feels like centuries pass before Hubert even moves, and when he does, he sighs, smaller than before, but it still sounds of disappointment. 

How unfortunate. Ferdinand is disappointed too. 

“I hope your research treats you well, Ferdinand,” Hubert says, something like pity in his voice. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Ferdinand nods. “Of course. I hope your day improves, Hubert.”

And with that, Hubert gives an awkward little bow, and walks out of the cafe. 

— 

When Ferdinand returns to his apartment that afternoon, the first thing he does is research Hubert’s entire ancestry line. 

Not because he’s a stalker, but because he is curious. Ferdinand will admit, there is something slightly indecorous about the entire affair, but he has a subscription to Ancestry.com from the school, and he intends to put it to good use. 

What he finds doesn’t surprise him. Hubert doesn’t seem like a very open person, and neither is his family. There are few records of the Rolfe family, and Ferdinand can only trace the name back a few generations before it gets muddled in second marriages and legal name changes. And since many members of Hubert’s family tree have blank spaces where documents are supposed to indicate their existence, Ferdinand finds more dead ends than live ones. 

He is able to trace one particular line back quite a while, until digitized records cannot fill in any more blanks. He’s within a few hundred years of the first Adrestrian court (and the founding of the new Adrestrian empire in 1186), and even though there is only one person he can pinpoint as being a direct relative, the last name “von Vestra” is sure to lead somewhere. 

So next, Ferdinand checks some of his own archives— a collection of overdue library books, old scrolls he’s bought from quirky collectors, a binder of annotated essays done by other historians— and he searches for the von Vestra name. 

And sure enough, within minutes Ferdinand finds proof of a von Vestra in some noble ledgers from the late 1200s, only a few generations from the first courts. If the von Vestras were a part of the third or fourth Adrestrian courts, it’s likely that they were in the  _ first _ Adrestrian court. 

This is exciting to Ferdinand for a number of reasons. First, many of the records from the first Adrestrian courts are scant, at best, and have been badly preserved. Unlike the other eras of the Empire, the first empress of Adrestria, Edelgard, kept many secrets which were lost to the flow of time, and scholars still to this day are trying to determine the exact events that led to her coronation. 

And second, if Hubert is directly  _ related _ to someone who was a part of that first founding empire, he could have valuable information on his family that would help Ferdinand’s research, as well as complete the archives with essential knowledge of that time period. 

Ferdinand knows that he was able to trace his family line back to some of the later courts, right before Adrestria adopted a parliamentary system and dissolved the nobility, but he’s never had access to someone so close to the source. 

He immediately has the urge to contact Hubert. 

But, Ferdinand reasons with himself, he’ll need more proof, if Hubert’s attitude at the coffee shop today was any indication. It won’t be enough to speculate that Hubert’s relatives were a part of the first courts— he will have to prove that they were. 

Which will prove to be a problem, because the records of the first courts are few and far between. But as Ferdinand’s research over the past three years had shown him, if he is to find the information anywhere, it will be at Garreg Mach University. 

Named for the very monastery that used to train young knights and nobles, Garreg Mach University was built to preserve the legacy of the institution (some even said it was built on the foundations of the old cathedral, but those were rumors at best). The university excelled at the arts, histories, and humanities, but it had since established robust engineering, robotics, and computational science departments as well. It stands as one of the top institutions in the country, and its library lives up to the university’s reputation. 

Ferdinand says a quick  _ hello _ to the library desk attendant, a girl with short purple hair hiding in a large black hoodie (she must be new; Ferdinand doesn’t recognize her as one of the library’s usuals). But Ferdinand doesn’t need to ask for directions or shelving information, as he’s headed to his very favorite section of the library— the Adrestrian Archives. It’s on the first floor, serving as a display, because the Garreg Mach library had the largest collection of primary source material from the Adrestrian Empire in the entire continent. 

Most of the materials are kept in a nice, temperature controlled room in dim light, but the special records, the really old ones— those are kept behind a locked door that only the librarians have access to. 

Luckily, Ferdinand had gotten access during his freshman year, when he begged the head librarian to allow him to enter the room at his own discretion. He had to spend the entire year reshelving books, helping students navigate the stacks, and even taking a special class on book preservation, but finally (with permission from his advisor and the Dean), Ferdinand was granted almost unlimited access to the Adrestrian Archives special room. All he needs is his key. 

Ferdinand strolls up to the circulation desk with the purple-haired girl. “Hello,” he says again. “My name is Ferdinand Baker, and I would like to access the Archive's special room.”

The girl squints at him for a second, nods, and then types something into the computer. While it loads, she chews on the string of her hoodie. 

“How are you this evening?” Ferdinand asks, trying to make conversation. The girl whips her head around, like she’s forgotten his presence already, and she stares at him like a deer in headlights until the computer pings. 

And then she’s back to normal, clicking a few buttons. She then pushes back from her desk to scurry to the back office (likely to retrieve Ferdinand’s key), and then returns to the desk and holds out her small hand with an old brass key (Ferdinand is right). 

He takes it from her. “Thank you,” he says. She just squeaks and retreats further into her hoodie. 

Luckily, Ferdinand has accessed the rare books room more times than he can count, so the strange interaction with the purple-haired girl doesn’t faze him. He strolls back to the Archives, behind the last stacks, and unlocks the door with the large key (which is just for show, because everything else in the library is card-operated). 

Then, Ferdinand suits up— a pair of gloves, custom wattage headlamp, booties for his shoes. He double checks his ensemble before picking up the first tome, lest he damage one of the precious archives, and begins to read. 

He starts with old ledgers from the courts, trying to find dates that align with the ones of the first court. The first ledger directs him to a second, and that one to a third, before he even begins to read about records from the correct time period. 

He finds an entry about the exchange of currency at the beginning of the Empire’s unification which looks promising. That leads him to a moneylender’s journal, which mentions some of the members of the first court by name. Ferdinand’s heart quickens. He’s getting somewhere. 

He jots down the name in a small notebook. He exits the room for a moment, accessing the computer again to see if the library owns any books that mention some of the names he's read about. 

_ Caspar von Bergliez.  _

_ Petra Macneary.  _

_ Dorothea Arnault.  _

He searches each one, but can only find a small entry from the journal of Petra Macneary. That’s a start, he thinks. Ferdinand notes its storage location, and then returns to the rare books room. 

There, in a small filing cabinet, he finds a few pages of a diary entry, pressed into plastic bags for safekeeping. They’re in another language, so Ferdinand painstakingly copies the texts, exits the rare books room, and then gets to translating. 

He’s surprised to find references to two more court nobles, ones who are not mentioned by name, but by legacy. Petra describes the two men as “the Emperor’s Confidante” and the “Noblest Noble.” At least, that’s an approximate translation— Google Translate is not the most reliable linguistic tool. 

Even if he can’t find Hubert’s direct ancestors, tonight’s research has gotten Ferdinand further than he thought. He has three new names of nobles that were parts of the Empire’s first court, and two monikers, which he hopes to learn the names of soon. Whether or not he ever speaks to Hubert again, tonight’s research is about more than that— it’s about more than both of them. 

Satisfied, Ferdinand exits the rare books room once again to access the computer. He inputs a search for “The Emperor's Confidant + The Noblest Noble” and is surprised to find a hit in the main stacks, in a collection of portraits that has been digitized and reprinted. Hoping to learn the names of these men, Ferdinand notes the stack's number, locks the rare books room, and heads up the stairs to the library’s art section. 

His heart is beating widely in his chest, a palpable excitement that Ferdinand hasn’t experienced in quite some time. The chance to lay eyes upon portraits of the very people that had founded the entire Empire— could this be the big break in his research that Ferdinand is searching for?

Locating the stacks, Ferdinand’s fingers trace the spines of the books until he finds the one he wants. The book is hefty and dusty, and it looks like it’s barely been touched since its first shelving. Ferdinand brings it to a nearby table and lays it out, the spine cracking satisfyingly as he flips through the pages. 

Referencing his notes, Ferdinand should be able to find the portrait somewhere in chapter three—

He freezes. The picture in front of him is a grainy scan of what is captioned to be the first emperor, flanked by her two closest advisors— the Emperor’s Confidant and the Noblest Noble. 

But it isn’t the emperor’s striking appearance, her white hair, or the eagle perched on her throne that makes Ferdinand’s blood run cold. 

It’s the man staring back at him, on the emperor’s left: with flowing ginger hair and a suit of red and gold, the Noblest Noble is unmistakably  _ him _ — Ferdinand is starting at a picture of himself. 

Before he even has time to process the excitement bubbling up within him, to address the thousands of questions spiraling in his brain, Ferdinand looks at the portrait more closely, at the man on Edelgard’s right. 

And although his face is hidden by shadow, as if he was trying to avoid the painter’s eye, Ferdinand would recognize those long, slender fingers anywhere: they belonged to a man named Hubert Rolfe, and Ferdinand had met him, completely by chance, just a few hours ago. 

No, this couldn’t simply be chance. It has to be  _ fate.  _

With questions like “What does this mean?” and “Why are  _ we _ connected?” buzzing under his skin, Ferdinand knows there is only one person who he wants to talk to about all of this. 

The one person who had practically laughed at the idea of something like this mere hours before. 

Taking a deep breath, Ferdinand opens Facebook and types in Hubert’s name, finding a single result for “Hubert Rolfe” and “Garreg Mach University,” even though it is woefully without a profile picture (which fits Ferdinand’s perception of the man, but also makes him seem a tad like a serial killer).

Ferdinand sends a friend request, and then opens Messenger to type out a message:

**Ferdinand:** _Hello, it’s Ferdinand Baker. From the bench._

 **Ferdinand:** _And the coffee shop._

 **Ferdinand:** _I have something you need to see._

**Ferdinand:** _ In the library.  _

**Ferdinand:** _It’s important._

Ferdinand is a proud double texter, but his habits are exacerbated in situations of stress— so Hubert gets about 15 more messages. 

When a minute passes and Hubert doesn’t respond, Ferdinand gets impatient and calls him on the app, even though he’s in the middle of the library and Hubert hasn’t even accepted his friend request. 

“Did you just call me on Messenger at midnight?” Hubert answers, disdain clear and present in his tone. 

“Is it midnight already?” Ferdinand asks, and then, right— back to the important subject at hand. “You weren’t answering your messages.”

“Had it occurred to you that I might have been in the middle of typing when you called me?” Hubert says, stressing the word “called” like it’s personally offensive. 

But Ferdinand is impatient, and news like this waits for no man, regardless of how much said man might hate talking on the phone. “Hubert. Check your messages,” he says, and then snaps a picture of the open book in front of him, the one with the picture of the two of them. 

A moment passes, and the picture goes from sent to delivered as Hubert grumbles over the speaker, and then the message changes to seen, and the phone goes quiet. 

Despite himself, Ferdinand breaks into a wide grin. He feels a little manic. Maybe this is what evil geniuses feel like. 

Silence, and then: “Where are you?”. 

“Library, second floor, back left,” Ferdinand says, not even trying to hide his glee. “How fast can you be here?”

—

It turns out that Hubert Rolfe moves very quickly, given the right motivation. While he dragged his feet all the way to the coffee shop this morning, he is at the library in seven minutes flat, hair windswept like he’d run all the way over, but not the slightest bit out of breath. 

Hubert stares at the open book on the table between them, one finger on his chin, but he hasn’t said a single word since he arrived, and Ferdinand is getting impatient.

“Well?” he asks, and Hubert slowly raises his head to look at him, clearly annoyed.

“Well, what?” he counters. “Am I supposed to understand what this means?”

“Well, no.” Ferdinand balks a little under his sinister gaze. “But, for one thing, isn’t this exciting? A little scary?”

“And,” he continues, “You have to admit— I was right.”

Hubert sighs, long and weary, and Ferdinand realizes that he has already grown accustomed to the sound in the span of only a single afternoon. 

“Perhaps your  _ theory—”  _ he stresses the word “theory” with his eyes narrowed “—could be at work here. Or perhaps it could be something else.”

“Oh, please, Hubert!” Ferdinand is close to raising his voice from exasperation. “Can you just admit that this might be proof that we were connected in the past,  _ just like I said earlier?” _

Hubert rolls his eyes. “Your optimism is relentless, and while I would scoff, I have to admit…” He pauses to suck in a long breath, like he’s in pain. “This evidence is incredibly intriguing, and I have motivation to believe you.”

Ferdinand’s eyes widen and his eyebrows go up. He nods, hoping Hubert will offer some follow up.

“And, well, I can trace my ancestry back quite a bit, and there is reason to suggest I have… noble blood, as you yourself said earlier. I believe my family had a place in the early Adrestrian courts.”

Ferdinand nods along eagerly, because he knows this, but doesn’t want to reveal just how close his behavior earlier had verged on stalking. 

“And I’d be lying if I said this red-haired fellow doesn’t look strikingly similar to you,” Hubert says. 

“His hair is exceptional, don’t you think?” Ferdinand says with a cheeky grin. While Ferdinand’s own hair is a short bob, just above his shoulder, his historical doppleganger’s hair reaches the middle of his back. 

Hubert does not answer.

“Did you discover the names of these two men?” he asks, instead. Ferdinand fills him in quickly on the research he did to find this image, and then admits that he hadn’t looked further. Once he’d laid eyes on the image, he had called Hubert immediately.

“I see,” is all Hubert says, before flipping through a few pages. Then, he shuts the book suddenly and disappears into the stacks, leaving a very confused Ferdinand in his midst. 

“Hubert? Where are you going?” Ferdinand pushes back from the desk, the scrape of the chair echoing in the library. It’s later than Ferdinand realized, and the stacks are mostly abandoned at this hour.

He walks the aisles until he finds Hubert in one, illuminated by the stark fluorescent lights on the library ceiling. He’s holding a book open in his hands.

“Why did you run off?” Ferdinand asks, but Hubert doesn’t respond, so he walks up the aisle to meet him, trying to peer at the book over his shoulder. “What are you reading?”

Wordlessly, Hubert hands him the book and points to a line on the page. Ferdinand reads.

> _ Though the full names are not accurately reported anywhere else, one source close to the Vestra family recovered a journal that belonged to a man in the first Adrestrian Empire, who was known for many years only as the “Emperor’s Confidante.” That man, whose journal was penned under the name Hubert von Vestra, also speaks of the first Emperor Edelgard’s other advisor, a man known as “The Noblest Noble,” or, Ferdinand von Aegir… _

Ferdinand blinks once, then again, but he cannot make sense of the words in front of him anymore. The only thing he can read is “Ferdinand von Aegir,” over and over again.

“That’s… that’s my name,” he whispers, looking up at Hubert, who is as equally pale as he himself feels.

“And that is mine,” Hubert says, his voice hoarse.

They are both silent for a moment, the sound of their shaky breaths filling the dim space of the crowded bookshelves.

Finally, Hubert clears his throat. “I suppose… you may have been right,” he says, and Ferdinand balks at him, almost more surprised at Hubert’s concession than at their discovery.

“I never thought it could be something like… this, though,” Ferdinand says, making vague gestures at the page. 

Hubert nods. “At the very least, we have more work to do.”

“We?” Ferdinand’s eyes go wide, but Hubert ignores him (again).

“We can start tomorrow. I do suppose I owe you a cup of tea,” Hubert says, and despite everything, Ferdinand smiles a bit at that.

“I would like that, very much. Tomorrow it is, and coffee is on you this time,” he says.

Hubert sighs again, and Ferdinand can already tell he’s going to get very used to that sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading this first chapter!
> 
> Since I was inspired by Ferdibert Week, I wanted to post this chapter in time for alternate timelines. However, I’m going to continue it in a multichapter piece, where Ferdinand and Hubert become friends while researching their shared history and learn more about themselves along the way ;) It’ll be a good ol’ college AU, strangers to lovers, reincarnation AU, slowburn fic, and it’s all planned out, so I’m going to try to write it this year. (Keep in mind, though, I am still a university student!)
> 
> However, I’m not going to post as I write— once I finish, I’ll start posting the chapters on a regular basis! This chapter is subject to change, as well as the title (because I am picky about titles). The rating may also change, **but the archive warnings will not!** But if you want to read more, please subscribe to the story, and you will start getting alerts when the fic is up and posting regularly!
> 
> (Also, if you are super invested, I will probably talk about it on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters). So you can follow me there for fic updates, or just if you want talk about ferdibert. I’m down for either.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand consults the smartest man he knows— he just happens to live in a freshman dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> You may have noticed a few things about this fic:
> 
> 1\. The fic has a different title! "the way that you were, the way that you are" is now "You, In Every Lifetime" (thank you to my good friend Pep for the title idea)! I like this title a lot, and it will not change any further. But it's still the same reincarnation AU! (You're in the right place lol)
> 
> 2\. This update is kinda... soon? I know I said I wanted to write the entire fic before posting, but I decided to just update as I write. This means— tags will be added, but none of the major archive warnings will change! Also, updates may be irregular, but hopefully not too far apart. I have a reasonable goal in mind for finishing this story, so I hope you all can take solace in the fact that I won't abandon this WIP.
> 
> Those are really the main things. Thank you all for finding me on twitter to talk about the fic or leave reviews. Ferdibert fans are really wonderful and kind, so thank you all for keeping me inspired! (And without further ado, enjoy the fic!)

The next morning, Ferdinand messages Hubert with his plan. 

While he’d hardly gotten sleep the night before— the excitement, nerves, and all the other possibilities of what his research could mean kept him wide awake— Ferdinand had taken some time to devise a plan before passing out, facedown, on his desk from sheer exhaustion around the hours of 3 and 4 AM. In the morning, he’s come up with this: after his classes end for the day, Ferdinand is going to pay a visit to the smartest man he knows, in hopes of finding some more answers. 

Hubert, unfortunately, does not respond to Ferdinand’s Facebook friend request, but he does message back at 8:12 AM. Does he have an early class, or does the man simply not sleep? Ferdinand knows both kinds of students. 

They agree to meet outside of the Political Science building after Hubert’s last class of the day (which he reluctantly produces the name of after much of Ferdinand’s curious prodding: Political Parties and Interest Groups in Fhirdiad), and together they walk over to where Ferdinand’s incredibly smart friend lives. 

Ferdinand realizes that they must look quite the pair walking across the grassy quad of campus— the student body Vice President of Organizations and a Victorian goth who looks like he might turn to dust if the sun hits him at just the right angle, but Ferdinand Baker keeps all sorts of company, and he is, if nothing else, a man of the people. 

“A freshman dorm?” Hubert asks, when they finally reach their destination. “Please do not tell me this scholar you spoke of is a _freshman.”_

“Hubert, don’t be ageist,” Ferdinand quips, although he absolutely agrees with Hubert— he would rather live in ignorance for the rest of his life than consult with a freshman. 

“But don’t worry,” Ferdinand adds. “He’s an RA.”

“I see.”

Ferdinand texts his contact to let them into the building, and a minute later, Lindhardt Byrne pushes open the heavy glass doors to let them into the building. 

“Good afternoon, Linhardt!” Ferdinand says, following him inside the building. He notices Linhardt is wearing a pair of slippers. “Or should I say good morning?”

Hubert looks personally offended at the thought that Linhardt would have just woken up at 4:30 PM, but Linhardt just chuckles lightly as he leads them into the building and says, “I just woke up from a nap.”

They climb up two flights of stairs, heat rising as they ascend, and Linhardt leads them to his room where he’s propped his door open. Blessedly cool air hits their faces as the door swings open— Linhardt’s RA privileges must extend to getting a free AC unit installed in his window. 

Only once they are all packed into Lindhardt’s single room does Ferdinand make his introductions. 

“Hubert, this is Linhardt, the smartest student on campus,” he says. Linhardt nods, not seemingly humbled by Ferdinand’s words at all. Hubert, on the other hand, looks like he doesn’t believe a word Ferdinand says. 

“And Linhardt, this is Hubert. He’s my… um, well…” Ferdinand struggles for a definition. What is he supposed to introduce Hubert as? They aren’t friends, since Hubert seems to want to have as little to do with Ferdinand as possible. And they aren’t classmates, roommates, or any other explicable pairing. They’re… research partners? Study buddies? 

Two men inexplicably bound to each other by some unknown fate, the likes of which Ferdinand is trying to unravel by bringing the mystery to Linhardt?

He looks at Hubert for assistance, and Hubert looks back, equally perplexed, and incredibly unhelpful. 

Ferdinand clears his throat. “We’re… well, we met yesterday, and I think we are connected in some way. That’s what we’ve come to you to get help with.”

“Connected, you say?” Linhardt asks, raising one eyebrow slightly, insinuating even more slightly. 

Hubert scoffs. “Not like that,” he says, and while Ferdinand agrees, he is a little offended at the speed in which Hubert produced his scoff. 

Ferdinand bites his tongue, but he makes a note to bring it up with Hubert later, because Ferdinand is an incredibly attractive man (and anyone would be lucky to have him).

“It’ll take a minute to explain, but this might help,” Ferdinand says, pulling up the picture Ferdinand von Aegir and Hubert von Vestra from the book last night. 

“I’m not really a visual learner,” Linhardt says, but he takes Ferdinand’s phone. 

For a good minute, Linhardt stares at the picture on the screen, and then up at them, and then back down again. Ferdinand fidgets with his backpack straps, discomforted by the silence. He sneaks a glance at Hubert. He looks bored.

“Huh,” Linhardt says, finally. “I have to say, this is quite intriguing.”

Ferdinand does a mental victory dance. Not much excites Linhardt— he is a hard man to please and even harder to interest, so the fact that he seems to be _intrigued_ by this information makes Ferdinand’s heart sing. 

“So I assume this is you two,” Linhardt says, not a question but a statement. Ferdinand nods. “I see,” and then: “I’d love to hear more.”

 _Success!_ “Shall we sit?” Ferdinand offers.

The three of them get settled in Linhardt’s small dorm room— Ferdinand and Linhardt on the floor, and Hubert on the sole desk chair. Ferdinand had originally thought they could all sit on the floor, because there weren’t enough seats in Linhardt’s room and Ferdinand did not want to cross the social barrier of asking Linhardt to let him sit in his bed, but Hubert griped about it so much that Ferdinand gave up and let him pull up a chair, totally ruining Ferdinand’s fantasy of conspirators around a campfire, but it’s _fine_.

Their sitting arrangement is a bit odd, with Hubert towering over them, but Ferdinand pulls out from his backpack the files he’d optimistically gathered earlier that morning in preparation for this meeting. 

But before Ferdinand can even ask him for help, he has to explain their little situation. 

“So,” Ferdinand begins, “The short version is that I met Hubert yesterday completely by chance, and then last night I came across this image in my readings.”

Ferdinand does not mention his extensive background research of Hubert’s ancestry, but that he’ll cross that bridge _if_ they come to it. 

“And, of course, you already know how I’m researching _reincarnation,”_ Ferdinand lowers his voice a bit, as if the newfound proof of his theory is enough to make his research illegal or taboo in some way, “so I need help finding out more information about these two men specifically—“ he points to the past versions of Ferdinand and Hubert— “as well as more information about the first Adrestian court.”

Linhardt taps his chin. “That’ll be hard. Most of that court’s records are not easy to find.”

“I know,” Ferdinand nods. “Other than Emperor Edelgard the First, hardly anything remains—“

Hubert sighs loudly, cutting him off. Ferdinand whips his head around to face his short-tempered companion. “Can I help you, Hubert?” 

“I’m just wondering,” he emphasizes the word _wondering,_ “if I even need to be here at all?”

He leans back in his chair, and it creaks precariously. “It seems like you and Linhardt are simply playing catch up. I don’t see a reason to waste my time like this further.”

Ferdinand has a thousand insults on his tongue, but he bites them back, because they aren’t just bickering on a bench anymore, they are spending time with Linhardt, whom Ferdinand greatly respects. 

Ferdinand takes a long, calming breath. “Please, Hubert, if you would be so kind as to stay,” he says through a forced smile and gritted teeth. “I didn’t get to explain my entire theory yesterday night, or at the coffee shop either, so I would appreciate your patience if you could _stick around a little longer_.”

Ferdinand feels like he might explode from trying to contain his annoyance at Hubert’s blatant rudeness, but he tries to just simmer to himself. Linhardt looks between the two of them. 

“Isn’t this about you as well?” Linhardt asks, addressing Hubert. “What could be more important than learning about your previous life?”

Linhardt blinks his big eyes back to Ferdinand. “If anything, I would like to learn more.”

Hubert stares at Linhardt for a moment, like he’s affronted that Linhardt would have the audacity to speak to him so directly. But, to Linhardt’s credit, Hubert shuts his mouth, sits back in his chair, and does not protest further. 

Maybe he should keep Linhardt around more often. 

“Anyways,” Ferdinand steers the conversation back. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to find much about these two men, especially on such short notice as this, so I instead turned my attention to some of my other research. 

Ferdinand pulls out a binder, created fresh last night with multicolored tabs and three year’s worth of thesis work, all organized for quick digestion and easy skimming. “Instead, I was thinking we could look into the other potential reincarnates that I’ve found over the years, to see if there is a link between their lines and ours.”

Linhardt nods, which Ferdinand takes as a sign to continue, so he launches into his theory. 

Over the past year or so, Ferdinand has found a few connections in the courts he now assumes to be reincarnations. What started out as conjecture— sets of people living similar lives or stories— turned into more concrete evidence as Ferdinand tracked birth dates and death dates. Currently, he has a few pairs of individuals who are likely reincarnation candidates simply due to the similarities of their lives and also the fact that one died and the other was born on the same day. 

“For instance,” Ferdinand holds up a folder with two slips of paper taped to the front— a newspaper birth announcement and an obituary— “Baldur von Underwoode was born on this day in 1497, and Emile Garfield passed away on that date, around the very same time.”

He passes the folder to Linhardt, and gives another example to Hubert, two women of another potential reincarnation line. 

“So you think these people are reincarnations of each other?” Linhardt asks. 

Ferdinand nods. “Yes. Not only do their births and deaths align, but look at this—“ he opens the folder and pulls out some more files: a photocopied journal, another newspaper article, and a quote from a book, “these two lives very similar lives. Both of them cheated on their wives and were caught, it was a big scandal at the time, and both either got together with another partner near the end of their lives. One married his best friend of 40 years in secret right before he died, and the other moved in with a neighbor at 80 years old.”

Linhardt skims the files he is pointing at, and Ferdinand pauses for questions. 

“And what do these women have in common?” Hubert asks, and Ferdinand has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, because it’s all explained in the folder there, if Hubert would simply find his basic reading comprehension skills. 

He briefly summarizes the stories of the two women, Celestria de Silva and Elise von Martin. Celestria was born first, and on the day she died, Elise von Martin came into the world on the other side of the country. Both were major political players that used their husbands’ influences to rise in the nobility. Their stories were so similar, in fact, that Elise was constantly referenced as a “more successful Celestria” during her time in the courts.

“Do you believe these two pairs to be connected?” Hubert asks, the first helpful question he’s asked all day. “And if so, does gender not factor into the reincarnation?”

Ferdinand shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. They are far enough apart in time that they could be, but I can not be for certain.”

Hubert nods and doesn’t say anything more, and in the most surprising twist of all, goes back to reading Ferdinand’s notes. 

Ferdinand feels a swell of pride in his chest. 

“So, what I hear you saying is that these reincarnations of yours can be traced by birth and death dates, right?” Linhardt asks, and Ferdinand is already nodding before he finishes, because of _course_ the smartest guy he knows would understand exactly what he is trying to do!

Linhardt continues. “And you want to focus your investigation of your personal— hypothetical— reincarnation, your connection to the two men from the First Empire, by looking at these dates?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” Ferdinand can not contain his excitement any longer, and he pumps one of his fists in the air. He turns to Hubert. “See? Smartest guy I know.”

Linhardt smiles. “So, Ferdinand, when were you born?”

Before he can answer, Hubert speaks. “But reasonably, we can’t just look into every person that has died on our days of birth, and then trace it back from there,” he says. “That would span almost… Two thousand years...” he looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to think hard about something. 

“56 generations?” Linhardt offers. Hubert looks annoyed. 

“Something like that,” he huffs. “And there are seven billion people on the planet. Do you know how many die every day? How many we’d have to sort through?”

Now, Ferdinand is not a showman, but he is not above some showmanship. Hubert set him up perfectly for his big reveal— this was all part of the plan he thought up last night, but he wanted to make Hubert and Linhardt arrive at it organically by way of a friendly discussion.

“I thought of that problem too,” Ferdinand says, playing up the distress. “But, I think we shouldn’t focus on ourselves.”

He pulls out the picture of Ferdinand von Aegir and Hubert von Vestra once more. “I think we should focus on them.”

If Ferdinand had a mic, he would have dropped it. 

And that’s where I— we need your help, Linhardt,” he says, glancing at Hubert to make sure he is still planning on helping. “If anyone can get their hands on records from the first court, it would be you.”

Ferdinand is aggrandizing for Linhardt’s pride at this point, but it works, and a tiny, pleased smile plays on Linhardt’s lips. He even seems to sit up straighter, which is noticeable, because Ferdinand has never seen him in any position taller than a slouch. 

“I’m in,” Linhardt says. “If anything, my old research was getting a bit boring. I needed a new project anyway.”

“Thank you so much, Linhardt,” Ferdinand says, and then nudges Hubert’s leg, urging him to follow suit. While Hubert’s reluctant “thank you,” can barely be heard over Linhardt's desk fan, Ferdinand must admit, it is a start. 

Linhardt, on the other hand, is already mumbling to himself. “If I take a nap now, I can check out the inter library loan system during lecture.” He shuffles some papers to the side of his desk, revealing a laptop buried beneath. “Then, during 251, I can review the slides from the Seiros lecture.”

Hubert gives Ferdinand a look, and clears his throat to get Linhardt’s attention. “Why don’t you investigate the ILL system now, so that you can participate in your lecture and you don’t have to make it up during another class?”

Linhardt looks at Hubert like he cannot understand the words coming out of Hubert’s mouth. Ferdinand wants to scold him for being so rude. What one man does with his college schedule is his own business and no one else’s. 

In the end, both of them ignore him. 

—

Outside of Linhardt’s dorm, Ferdinand stops Hubert. 

From walking away, that is.

“Hubert? Where are you going? We still have much to discuss!” Ferdinand calls after him. Hubert sure has long legs. Maybe that’s how he gets around so quickly.

Hubert barely spares him a passing glance as Ferdinand catches up to him. “Back to my dormitory. I have work to do.”

Ferdinand _wants_ to ask what in Fodlan could be more important than _this,_ but he tries a different angle. “You still owe me a drink.”

Hubert pauses, like he is possibly taking a moment to consider Ferdinand’s offer, but then continues to walk. Ferdinand sighs and jogs to catch up with him.

“Hubert!” he calls, again. “I thought we were working on this together!”

“And what makes you think I can’t accomplish the same amount of work— no, _more_ — on my own, without your constant chattering in my ear?” he asks. 

_Constant chattering?_ Ferdinand has been nothing but _pleasant_ and _accommodating_ during the almost-24 hours that he and Hubert have known each other. It is almost _insulting,_ the level of disrespect and disdain that Hubert has shown for him for absolutely no good reason. 

This man, Ferdinand decides, is either far too sensitive, or he has some kind of personal vendetta against making friends. While other men might shirk at a challenge of this grandeur, Ferdinand himself rises to the occasion.

He will break down Hubert’s walls, and so help him Goddess, they will become friends.

Ferdinand stops walking, crosses his arms, and says, “I don’t know why you are so insistent upon working alone, but you said yourself last night that you would help me uncover the mysteries of this project.”

Thankfully, Hubert stops walking. He doesn’t turn around, but still, he is standing still for the moment. Ferdinand continues. 

“I don’t know what kind of resources you have, but I do know that I am the only student on campus that has unlimited access to the Rare Books Room, as well as _three years worth of study_ on this subject matter. You are welcome to work on this alone, but I doubt you will get anywhere without me.”

He pauses. “I understand this is scary and fantastic and a little bit mind-blowing, but you’re a part of this too, now, and you said you would help me. Well, this is what helping me looks like. Take it or leave it.”

Hubert’s hands clench tightly by his sides for a quick second before he releases them, stretching out his fingers before balling them into fists again. Ferdinand puffs out his chest and stands his ground. If this is the moment of truth, so be it. Ferdinand is not going down without a fight, but he hopes this won’t turn to actual blows.

And then, Hubert turns on his heel.

“Hubert?” Ferdinand calls out, not sure whether to chase him or stand frozen in his tracks. “Where are you going?”

“Cafe,” Hubert snaps. “Catch up. I’m buying coffee, and we are sitting down and working out a schedule.”

Ferdinand jogs to catch up to him, no longer suppressing his wide smile.

—

In the same cafe in which they sat one day before, Ferdinand ponders his options. The tea selection isn’t listed on the large menu boards behind the counter, but Ferdinand knows the blends they offer almost by heart. He is, however, considering choosing something other than a tea today, though, because last night’s studying left him with little sleep. In the sleepy, serene cafe atmosphere, Ferdinand has already had to blink himself awake thrice.

Hubert orders a large black coffee and steps to the side, signaling Ferdinaind’s turn to order.

“Perhaps I will order a chai today,” he says, mostly to himself. And then, directing his question to the cashier, “Which of these—” he squints at the menu boards “— ‘ _health boosts’_ would have the most caffeine? And, follow up: do you think that an _extra strength Gogi Shot_ would taste good in my tea?”

Off to his right, Hubert scoffs. 

“Here to judge my drink order again, Hubert?” Ferdinand asks, rolling his eyes and mouthing an apology to the barista. 

“Yes, in fact, I am,” Hubert says. “Why go to all of the trouble of ordering a drink with all of these fancy extras, when you could simply drink coffee and save money?”

“There is only one problem with that logic,” Ferdinand says. “I do not like the taste of coffee. Never have. I find it far too bitter.”

Hubert sighs. “You do know, they make drinks from coffee that don’t taste bitter.”

Ferdinand frowns. “But won’t it still taste like coffee?”

“Yes,” Hubert rolls his eyes. “He’ll have a peppermint mocha latte,” he tells the cashier. 

Since when does Hubert order for him? “That was bold,” Ferdinand remarks as they walk over to the other side of the counter to wait for their drinks. 

“Trust me. This will not taste like coffee in the slightest, and you will at least get more caffeine than you would drinking your regular tea blends,” Hubert says. 

Unremarkably, Ferdinand does not believe him, but, since Hubert has paid for both of their drinks, he will give it a try. And if he hates it, which he will, Ferdinand will simply buy something else. 

Their orders are called— a plain, steaming cup for Hubert and something covered in whipped cream and sprinkles for himself. Ferdinand wrinkles his nose at the sight, and tries not to spill as they make their way over to a table nestled in the cafe’s corner. 

Hubert takes a large swig of his coffee without batting an eye; it’s unnerving, almost. Ferdinand takes a moment to size up his drink— he likes peppermint tea (in fact, he’s never met a tea he doesn’t like), but he has never tried this so-called “mocha,” and he’s not looking forward to it. Bracing himself, Ferdinand brings the festive-looking mug to his lips. 

His eyes widen. “Is this… coffee?”

Hubert takes another sip of his own beverage, looking incredibly smug and satisfied. “Technically, it’s espresso, but yes. I assume that you are for the first time enjoying a coffee drink.”

“It’s just so pleasant!” Ferdinand exclaims. “Is there cocoa in this? And the hint of peppermint, oh, this is delightful!” He takes a longer drink, savoring the warmth that floods his body. 

He levels Hubert with a glance. “How did you know I have a sweet tooth?”

Hubert scoffs, almost like an actual _laugh_ , and says, “You have a look about you,” and maybe for the first time, Ferdinand actually understands Hubert’s cryptic musings. 

“I suppose I do,” Ferdinand smiles. “So, shall we get down to business?”

They spend the next several minutes sorting through their schedules. Ferdinand learns that Hubert has two jobs, researching in the Molecular Biology department as well as something administrative in the Political Science department, and these take up the majority of his time. With some prodding, he also finds out that Hubert is on the University’s Quidditch team, which delights Ferdinand to literally no end.

Ferdinand himself has quite a few activities, from student government to the university’s Equestrian club (they have to meet off-campus, but Ferdinand is a proud member). He doesn’t have a job, but his parents’ weekly allowance (for rent and “other expenses”) keeps Ferdinand living comfortably. And without a job, Ferdinand has more time for other extracurriculars, namely: a whole lot of meetings.

“You’re kidding,” Hubert says. “You don’t have a single free hour until—” he squints at Ferdinand’s schedule “—11:00 PM on Tuesdays?”

Ferdinand nods proudly. Some people say that Garreg Mach University has a stress culture, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He just stays busy and gets all of his work done, and sometimes falls asleep in the library. 

With some puzzling, they manage to find two nights a week they’re both free after 9:00 PM, which Hubert reluctantly agrees to (he prefers to operate during business hours, but Ferdinand’s schedule is jam-packed with post-5pm meetings). When he asks for a meeting place, Ferdinand proposes the newest building on campus— the Political Science building. Being an administrative assistant for the department means that Hubert must have after-hours access, and Ferdinand has been itching to try out their study spaces. 

“I am not letting you in.”

“Why not?” Ferdinand whines. He knows how childish he sounds, but the chairs in the PolySci building are things of legend. Students say you can sit there for hours without ever needing to stretch. 

“We will distract the grad students,” Hubert says, matter-of-factly, like this should be obvious to Ferdinand _._

“We will be quiet! I am more than capable of being quiet!” Ferdinand shouts, and Hubert levels him with a look. 

It takes a little more convincing, but Ferdinand finally wears Hubert down, and he agrees to one meeting a week in the Political Science building. Ferdinand cannot _wait_ to write on the whiteboard walls.

“Right then, should I send you a Google calendar invite?” he asks, already sliding his laptop from his backpack. Hubert does not mirror his actions, nor does he take out his phone. 

Instead, he pulls from his briefcase a small, leather-bound notebook. “I prefer to use a physical agenda,” he says, like he _isn’t_ the most pretentious person on the face of Fódlan. 

Ferdinand grits his teeth, forces a smile, and a tense, “Okay,” before entering in their scheduled times into his calendar. 

Once he’s created the event, repeated it correctly, and added all the precise locations, Ferdinand returns to nursing his drink. He surreptitiously sneaks glances at Hubert as he sips, watching his fingers gently gripping the pen, drawing long, sloping letters in his planner that correspond to the electronic ones in Ferdinand’s calendar. When he’s finished, Ferdinand expects him to leave, but Hubert just slips his journal into his briefcase again and takes another drink of coffee, looking anywhere but at Ferdinand. 

Hubert stays, but he makes no effort to start conversation. They both are quiet for a few moments, the silence dragging out from “comfortable” to “painful” after a full minute passes by. 

Ferdinand sips some more of his mocha, trying to avoid a whipped cream mustache. 

“So,” Ferdinand says, as a way of a low-commitment icebreaker. Ferdinand Baker does not hold silence very well, and he has always preferred, personally, to fill it. 

Hubert raises an eyebrow. “Were you going to finish that sentence?”

It’s rude, but Ferdinand has almost gotten used to Hubert’s tableside manner by now. He shrugs. “I was wondering what you thought of today. Any theories? New ideas?”

“Since half an hour ago? No, I do not have any new breakthroughs,” Hubert says, rather sarcastically. 

Ferdinand, so help him Goddess, is trying. But there is only so much a man can do. 

“I did have some questions, however,” Hubert says, casually. Ferdinand perks up. 

“Questions, for me?”

“Who else would I be asking?” Hubert snaps. “Google?”

Ferdinand narrows his eyes and mutters “Good luck with that,” but Hubert keeps talking. 

“Well, I’m having a hard time understanding the science of this,” he says. “Why hasn’t this been discovered before? And, are these all the same reincarnation line? Or are they different lines, all stemming from one group of people? Is it a coincidence you and I found reincarnations of ourselves, or is it possible everyone is reincarnated?”

Ferdinand blinks. Hubert’s questions are introspective, self-aware, and, most impressive of all, some of them are even helpful. Hubert fires them off in such rapid succession that Ferdinand has to take a moment to even process them. Where is the grumpy, unhelpful, reluctant man from before— who is this, and what has he done with Hubert?

“Well,” Ferdinand says, slowly, trying to remember the order of questions and how they were presented. “To begin, I don’t know that this _hasn’t_ been discovered before, this is just the first evidence I have of it happening in the first place. And even the evidence is shaky, I have to admit.”

Hubert nods, and Ferdinand goes on. “I’m not sure if this is all on the reincarnation line, or if all of the evidence I have gathered is from multiple people. I don’t know how reincarnations work: whether they skip generations or not, but the proof I have does suggest that reincarnations happen each generation, that is, to say: cleanly. As in, we should be able to track a line straight from ourselves back to the other Ferdinand and Hubert.”

“I see. But that may be wishful thinking.”

Ferdinand sighs, but it’s in agreement. “Yes, it may be wishful thinking indeed,” he says. “And as for finding reincarnations of other people, I am not sure the odds of meeting someone else who has such convincing evidence of reincarnation as we do.”

“It is quite strange that we met,” Hubert says, slowly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Who would have known I would have the misfortune of sitting next to the single student at this University who is studying reincarnation?”

He says _misfortune_ , but it doesn’t hold any of his typical Hubert malice. It’s almost… teasing. Also, this is the first time Hubert has talked about Ferdinand’s area of study without a hint of sarcasm or reproach.

Ferdinand finds himself smiling. “So, Hubert,” he says. “I meant to ask: how did you know where to find the book with the entries containing our names?”

Hubert regards him for a moment, like he’s unsure whether to trust Ferdinand with whatever information he’s about to share. His brow furrows before speaking. 

“My best friend and I, growing up, were told that we were named for some of the nobles in the First Adrestian court,” he says. “We were told we had noble blood. I tried to learn about our namesakes for a while, but it was not until I came to Garreg Mach that I had the resources to even find them.”

Hubert’s eyes are far away. “I read that book when I was a freshman. I never knew it could be connected until now.”

Ferdinand nods, intrigued by Hubert’s sudden vulnerability. He’s like a different person— quiet, introspective, not _incredibly_ annoying. For the first time, Ferdinand sees past the prickly exterior that Hubert has had bristling against him the whole time. Like a rose bush, Ferdinand has cleared the thorns and is beginning to see the first hint of the vermillion petals hidden beneath. 

“This friend of yours,” Ferdinand says. “I would like to meet him someday. Does he go to school here?”

Hubert scoffs. “ _She_ does not. And I assure you, you two will never meet.”

“Well that’s pessimistic,” Ferdinand mutters, determined not to look as slighted as he feels. 

“I just think your personalities wouldn’t… _mesh_ well,” Hubert says. 

Ferdinand huffs, and then puts on a fake, shiny smile. “I think I could charm her,” he says, cockily. 

“I doubt it.”

“Well if she ever visits, I would like to meet her and prove myself,” Ferdinand says. “I won you over, didn’t I?”

“ _If_ she ever visits,” Hubert says, “You will be blissfully unaware of her presence.”

He lifts his coffee cup to his lips, finishing the dark dregs with one final sip. “And what makes you think you’ve won me over?”

From behind his cup, Ferdinand can see Hubert smirking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this update! I was so humbled by the support for this story, and I have enjoyed your comments. It makes it really fun, writing this story with you all interacting with me and cheering me on! 
> 
> A big thank you to [Pep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk) for beta-ing this piece as I go! 
> 
> If you ever want to talk about the fic, or check out the memes I have collected for this AU, recommend songs for the playlist, talk about this and other details I didn't get to add (yet?), or even ask me why I chose to give characters the last names I did, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters)! I love talking about this project and I would love to chat with you!! :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Hubert grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: This chapter now includes some incredible art I commissioned from [@hausofthestars](https://twitter.com/hausofthestars) on Twitter! I've embedded it at the end of this chapert, but you can find the post [here](https://twitter.com/hausofthestars/status/1333133427328118785?s=20)!

They agree to meet on Tuesdays and Saturdays at 9 PM, until both Ferdinand and Hubert realize that Saturday night research sessions are not healthy for their social lives. While it may be a bit of a stretch to call Ferdinand’s life “social,” he does want to be able to take the opportunities that he’s given. On top of that, the library has a habit of closing early on Saturday nights, which Ferdinand begrudgingly respects them for. (The library staff has a better work-life balance than he does.)

After missing two weeks in a row, Ferdinand moves a few meetings around, and they decide to meet at 4 PM on Saturdays instead. On Tuesdays, they go to the Political Sciences building, where Hubert has class until 8 and lets Ferdinand into the building once finished with his meetings for the day. Then, on Saturdays, they meet at the library, where Ferdinand scouts the rare books room and sneaks Hubert in when the desk attendants aren’t paying attention (he’s being careful, and he makes sure Hubert doesn’t touch anything)! It’s a little bit of Ferdinand of showing off, and a lot of him slapping Hubert’s untrained hands away from the old books

The library is nice, and Ferdinand feels like he has a bit of a home-field advantage, just because he spends so much time in the stacks. But as collaborative work goes, the library is hardly the place. 

But the political science building— it’s a thing of beauty, all sharp angles and open concept spaces _everywhere._ There are floor-to-ceiling windows on each floor, which can’t be good for birds, but the natural light is absolutely exquisite, and a far cry from the other academic buildings which are old and feel like dingy concrete jail cells (were the architects allergic to windows, perhaps?). 

Hubert and Ferdinand meet in front of the building on Tuesday nights. Sometimes Hubert is already studying on one of the floors, and he’ll walk down to the entrance to let Ferdinand in after his late-night meetings. Ferdinand makes a point of trying out as many study spaces as possible, from the small breakout rooms, to the clusters of captains chairs, to high tables with bar stools that are nestled in every odd corner of the building. There are even individual, soundproof pods that Hubert will shut himself in if Ferdinand is talking too much.

And whenever Hubert shuts himself into one, Ferdinand will shut himself into an adjacent pod and video call Hubert over and over until he either blocks Ferdinand’s contact or reluctantly answers the call.

“Stop bothering me,” Hubert will answer.

Ferdinand tries to stretch out in the cramped pod, knocking into the fuzzy, soundproof walls. He grimaces. “We need to work together, Hubert!” he says.

“Why? Can we not work in silence?”

“This is a collaborative effort!” Ferdinand shouts. He chose the pod so that he could call Hubert without being disruptive to the other students studying on the floor. He sees Hubert wince in the pod next to him. Serves him right for locking himself away. 

“For instance,” Ferdinand continues, “What if I make an incredible discovery that I must show you immediately? And you are all the way in a completely separate pod?”

“Ferdinand, we are right next to each other,” Hubert rolls his eyes and looks pointedly at Ferdinand through the glass. Ferdinand smiles and waves. “Are you saying that it is so much of a burden to open my door and show me whatever discovery you’ve found?” 

“Think of all the time we would lose, Hubert!” Ferdinand says, and to demonstrate his point, he opens his glass door, hops out of his pod, and wrenches Hubert’s door open. Hubert looks like he wants to flee, but he is trapped in his little study pod. His hubris is his own undoing.

“That took so much time,” Ferdinand says, lowering his voice to an appropriate indoor level. “We only have so much time dedicated to research per week. We have to be efficient.”

He swings Hubert’s door closed and open again. “This won’t do. Think of all the precious time I have wasted on this journey from my pod to yours.”

Hubert must understand that it is no use arguing with Ferdinand on this point, because he always ends up begrudgingly gathering his papers and exiting his bubble of safety, and they return to the long, white tables in the middle of the common space that have outlets nestled into the wooden legs.

Their progress is slow but encouraging, because each piece of evidence they find, each journal entry, each offhand comment in a book’s footnote is like a puzzle piece, slowly clicking together to reveal the greater picture. Most of the time, their work consists of digging through time logs and court records and other such dry literature, but the feeling of elation when either of them finds another puzzle piece is a high that Ferdinand could chase forever. It keeps him going through the late nights, after full days of meetings and piles of problem sets he hasn’t started yet. 

Although, every so often, even the best students need a break.

“Hubert, what kind of dog am I?” Ferdinand asks on one such night, as he’s clicking through a quiz on his laptop. He doesn’t hear an answer, and so he looks up to meet Hubert’s very confused, very annoyed glare. 

“Aren’t we supposed to be working?” he asks. “Didn’t you say, last week, how _very_ important our time was? How our research is of the utmost importance and could not be slowed down by even the time it takes to open a door?”

Ferdinand grins anyways. “I am studying,” he says. “But an important part of studying is taking breaks. Without taking a break now and again, my studying ability will diminish, and I will lose more time researching inefficiently than I will lose by taking a short break.

“So, yes, I’m not currently making progress, but I _am_ learning how my selection of home decor will reveal what kind of dog I am,” he explains. “I suggest you take a pause from your research as well. We don’t want to burn out.”

“I was in the middle of a sentence, and now I’ve lost my place,” Hubert grumbles. 

Typical. If Hubert were truly a scholar, like Ferdinand himself is, he would know that he should highlight his current sentence on his screen before looking up, _lest he lose his place_. 

While Hubert does not take Ferdinand’s advice, he does stare at him a moment more before saying, “Golden retriever,” and returning back to his computer. 

Ferdinand does not mind being compared to a golden retriever. In fact, he quite respects the breed. “Well,” he says. “I think you are a poodle. One of those black ones that’s very tall.”

Hubert whips his head up from his laptop in utter disgust, sneering at Ferdinand. “I am obviously a _Doberman Pinscher,”_ he says, and then his eyes narrow on Ferdinand’s own computer. 

“Let me take the quiz,” he says, and Ferdinand cannot contain his excitement. 

He refreshes the page and walks Hubert through the questions (apparently he has never taken a Buzzfeed quiz before). When Ferdinand thinks this night cannot possibly get any better, Hubert’s results diagnose him as a Pomeranian. 

Ferdinand laughs loud enough to earn a shushing from the grad students working nearby, and Hubert sulks for the rest of the night. 

A couple weeks into their research, and the going is slow, but Hubert and Ferdinand have landed on a plan of attack that they’re currently making their way through. Thanks to Linhaardt’s help and the inter-library loan system, Ferdinand recently discovered Ferdinand von Aegir’s death date and, not long after, Hubert von Vestra’s as well. Since the discovery (which was celebrated with a single lackluster high five from Hubert), they have been looking into birth records from around the times of death, to see if they can identify potential reincarnates and go from there. 

It’s tedious work. Hubert is tasked with searching for birth records from different provinces in old Fodlan, while Ferdinand is sorting through birth certificates from the time individually. Sometimes, it makes Ferdinand want to pull his hair out. 

At those times, he tries to make conversation about the names he finds, kind of like a game. 

“You know,” Ferdinand says. “There were quite a few “Edelgards” born in this generation, after Emperor Edelgard I was crowned.”

Hubert does not look up from his computer, but he nods. “That makes sense. It was a very popular name for a while.”

And then, he adds, “My best friend growing up is named Edelgard, as well.”

Hubert’s close friend was named Edelgard? Naming girls after the first (and second, and third, and fourth) emperor was not uncommon, but it was more of a fad in the generation before. All of the Edelgards he knew were over 50.

“‘Edelgard?’ Is she, erm, older, perhaps?” he asks, trying to conceal a smile at his cleverness. 

Hubert looks offended, and Ferdinand realizes he may have made a mistake. Considering this was one of the few details Hubert has offered up, willingly, about his personal life, Ferdinand quickly tries to recover. 

“It’s a beautiful name,” he says. “I would bet that she is quite beautiful as well.”

Hubert smirks a bit, just the corner of his mouth, an odd expression Ferdinand has not seen much on him. It looks wistful, perhaps— nostalgic? But with a hint of cynicism to it as well. 

“Most would say so,” Hubert says, causally. 

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow. “Most? And how about yourself?”

Hubert looks up from his screen to roll his eyes at Ferdinand. “If you are trying to surmise whether or not I am in love with my best friend, I will assure you that that trope is overdone and, if you would believe it, she and I are simply companions.”

“Oh, I see,” Ferdinand responds, and goes back to reading his screen, but for some reason, he cannot comprehend the sentence that he reads over and over again. 

He had always thought— assumed, in fact— that Hubert would be romantically involved with the “girl that doesn’t go to our school,” and while he is not surprised to learn that Hubert isn’t, he is surprised at his reaction, which feels something like… relief?

Perhaps it’s the feeling of learning such an intimate detail of Hubert’s own life, or, more likely, that Ferdinand simply feels closer to him. But for a moment, his heart had quickened and his palms had grown damp, and his gaze lingered on the top of Hubert’s forehead even after he returned back to work. 

—

His relationship with Hubert is an odd one. 

Ferdinand wouldn’t consider them friends, maybe more like colleagues. But that was in the beginning, before they were meeting regularly: two or three nights a week to work. Things start to shift, in the slow, subtle way that they do— so slow, in fact, that Ferdinand doesn’t realize a month has gone by and his relationship with Hubert has evolved into something else. 

Maybe it was to be expected, since they were spending so much time together. First, it was only a few nights a week, scheduled, regular, always with a strict start and end time. Then, the times became more fluid as Ferdinand would have a meeting postponed and Hubert would welcome him into the poly sci building an hour earlier than planned, or they got caught up in research and the hours blended until 11 PM melted into 1:30 AM under the harsh fluorescent lights of common areas, and the two men would reluctantly pack their bags and bid each other farewell for the night. 

Hubert even gave Ferdinand his phone number, unprompted, so that Ferdinand could get his coffee order correct. (They had a habit of buying one another caffeinated drinks from the coffee shop in the library— whoever arrived before closing would buy the drinks for the night.)

And then, perhaps most peculiar and also most wonderful of all, is that Hubert and Ferdinand began meeting outside of their regularly scheduled meeting times, sometimes to slip in a few minutes of key research, but other times, just to do some homework.

Ferdinand is surprised the first time Hubert says yes to one of these meetings. 

“Want to do some work today? I’m free 3:30-5 and would love some motivation!” 

Ferdinand’s text is a bit of a cheap ploy, one he knows Hubert will see right through— Ferdinand has no trouble motivating himself, but working with others makes it feel more like a competition of sorts, and Ferdinand loves any opportunity to prove himself. It’s possible that Ferdinand has enjoyed spending time with Hubert over the past few weeks, and perhaps they both sense that they are verging on, potentially, a friendship. 

Besides, Ferdinand has been oh so very patient, waiting for Hubert to warm up to him. 

Hubert’s response is a single, “Sure,” but Ferdinand feels like he’s soaring above the clouds when he reads that word. 

Hubert meets him at the café half an hour later, and Ferdinand makes sure there is a black coffee waiting for him. 

He nods a thank you and pulls out his laptop when he sits down. They quickly fall into their work rhythm, occasionally exchanging quick words of quips. 

An hour in, Ferdinand receives an email. 

“The library is going to be closed all of Saturday,” he reads from the screen, frowning. “Renovations or whatnot.”

Hubert nods. “I suppose that happens.”

“Should we try to meet somewhere else?” Ferdinand asks. He and Hubert only have so much time to work, and he has a meeting with his advisor scheduled in the next few weeks. He wants to have a little more progress on his thesis before he presents it to his advisor. 

“Where do you suggest?”

Ferdinand shrugs, mirroring Hubert’s gesture. “You could come over to my apartment,” he suggests cautiously. It’a new territory, since they’ve never met anywhere other than public spaces, but Ferdinand lives close to campus and his apartment has a mini-library of his own. 

And, of course, it might be fun. 

Hubert mulls it over for a minute, literally leaning back in his chair with his hand just above his chin (like he’s stroking an invisible beard). He’s wearing a black vest today, and Ferdinand wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a pocket watch tucked into one of the pockets. Oftentimes, Hubert dresses like he’s from another century, but Ferdinand supposes it fits his aesthetic and all. 

“If I move some things around, that might work,” Hubert says, and Ferdinand couldn’t be more pleased with himself. 

“Would you like to meet later?” he asks. “We can do work over dinner, order takeout or whatnot.”Ferdinand stops himself. “Unless you have plans, that is.”

He’s not sure what kind of “plans” Hubert would get up to on a Saturday night, other than maybe experimental drugs or possibly a cult meeting, but it is rude to assume. 

Hubert shakes his head. “I don’t have plans. Saturday night is fine,” he says, and then returns to his laptop. 

Ferdinand is about to celebrate this most recent victory, when he suddenly remembers the state of his apartment, and, consequently, the amount of cleaning ahead of him.

—

The week rolls on, days blending together even though time is standing still. 

On Saturday morning Ferdinand tries to straighten up a bit, resigning himself to the fact that he does not have the time to do more than place things in piles and try to dust off some of the more unused surfaces. His living room, kitchen, and dining room are all one big space, but Ferdinand is so busy that he hardly occupies it, instead using it as a large storage area. 

It’s been a while since Ferdinand has had a friend over, simply because he and his friends prefer to meet out of their houses— for dinner, drinks, or, of course, to study. 

It’s not that he thinks Hubert is going to judge his living “quarters” (as the man would so aptly call them), and even if he does, Ferdinand has withstood his fair share of teasing from Hubert, so what’s a few more pokes? He can’t quite place his unease, other than the possibility that this sharing of space, one so personal as Ferdinand’s own apartment, is oddly intimate; while Ferdinand has overshared many a trivial fact about himself, this feels... bigger. 

It’s probably the fact that— only a month ago— he and Hubert were complete strangers, and now they are entangled in an epic line of reincarnations that spans back thousands of years. With that, there is always bound to be some unease. 

Yes, that is most likely the culprit. 

Hubert arrives at seven, and after a passing glance around the combined living room/kitchen/dining room, he offers no more than a, “Quaint.”

A month ago, Ferdinand might have been offended. But today, the pseudo-insult slides off of him like raindrops on a roof.

He and Hubert get to work quickly, predicting a long night of work ahead of them. Ferdinand shows Hubert his collection of overdue books and his own rare materials (a personal library); even though their current vein of research won’t be aided by any of Ferdinand’s resources (he’s checked), it’s nice to have someone who views them with careful hands and the same curious fascination that Ferdinand feels so fondly. 

Afterwards, the two of them set up at Ferdinand’s dining room table, quickly filling the empty space with scattered papers, open-faced books, and hundreds of tiny notes crammed into every margain imaginable. Luckily, Hubert has provided his own coffee (as if Ferdinand would own a coffee maker), and his paper to-go cup leaves rich, round stains on some loose sheets of paper. 

They fall into their comfortable rhythm, the one they’ve almost perfected over the past month; a few comments here, a few questions there, and too many distractions on Ferdinand’s part. Ferdinand works on his presentation for his advisor, and once he finally moves on from picking the perfect template, Hubert helps him with an outline— what they know, what they are currently looking into, and what questions they still have (this section, unsurprisingly, is the longest).

The night passes in a blur, hours blending into each other, until a sudden crack of lightning followed by a loud burst of thunder startles Ferdinand out of his reverie.

Hubert looks around suddenly, like he’s forgotten where he is, and Ferdinand gets up from the table to look out the window— it’s pouring, rain pounding against the fragile glass. Another peal of lightning makes him jump.

“It’s coming down out there,” he says, even though Hubert can hear the drum of the raindrops. 

Hubert chuckles. “I’ll admit, that frightened me a bit.”

“The great Hubert Rolfe was frightened by the elements?” Ferdinand teases, clutching his hand over his heart in mockery. 

“You’re so pretentious,” Hubert replies, and Ferdinand is about to point out his incredible hypocrisy, when he sees Hubert shuffling his papers into a pile, as if he’s packing to leave.

“What are you doing?” Ferdinand asks. 

Hubert scoffs. “Packing up. It’s nearing one in the morning; I should go.”

Ferdinand blinks slowly. “Surely, you can’t be thinking about walking home in this weather?” 

“Not immediately,” Hubert snaps. “Whenever it passes.”

Ferdinand sits down at his computer again, pulling up the radar on his local weather site. He frowns.

“It doesn't look like it’ll pass for a while. Not until 5 in the morning, at least.”

“Let me see that,” Hubert says. Ferdinand turns his laptop to show Hubert his screen— a storm has blown in over the past hour and has planted itself right above Garreg Mach University (and the surrounding area), and isn’t predicted to dissipate until the early morning. 

Hubert narrows his eyes. “I don’t trust radars,” he says. 

Of course he doesn’t. Hubert probably reads the moon and stars to figure out the next day’s weather patterns. 

Instead of fighting that particular battle, however, Ferdinand asks, “How far do you live?”

“About a mile and a half.”

“So you’re going to walk then, is that it?” Ferdinand asks. “I don’t suppose you brought an umbrella?” Hubert is not dressed for rain in the slightest— he’s wearing tight, black jeans and a black button-up with tiny floral patterns woven across it, both of which will be instantly soaked if he steps foot outside.

Hubert crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, his frown almost verging on a pout “No, I did not.”

“You’ll catch a cold, Hubert,” Ferdinand says pointedly. 

“And? What else am I to do? It’s not like I could get a ride at this hour.”

Ferdinand pauses, regarding Hubert for a quick moment. It’s one thing to study together, in Ferdinand’s apartment, it is another entirely to—

“— Stay the night,” Ferdinand blurts. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the pullout couch.”

Hubert looks absolutely stunned. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“You don’t have to take the bed, you can take the couch, if it’s more comfortable. I’ll lend you some sweats to wear to bed, and I have some extra toiletries.”

“— I wouldn’t want to impose—”

Another crack of thunder cuts them off, shaking the walls of Ferdinand’s apartment.

“Please. I am worried about you.” 

The way Ferdinand says it sounds like some kind of a confession. In all honesty, it’s not far from one. Over the month of their friendship, neither of the two have said anything as vulnerable as this.

Ferdinand means it, as well. He has grown quite fond of Hubert’s company, possibly even Hubert himself. Their bickering is hardly bothersome anymore, and well, perhaps, Ferdinand would be remiss if Hubert were to get struck by lightning on the way home because they lost track of time doing research on their past lives. 

“Why do you care about me?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand shrugs. “Do you not?”

Hubert furrows his eyebrows in thought, and then looks up again. “Perhaps, it would be safer if I stayed the night.” 

Ferdinand smiles. “Ok, it’s settled.” 

The rest of the night’s procedures are brusque and orderly, as Ferdinand can feel Hubert’s apprehension radiating off of him in waves. He sets some blankets, a change of clothes, and a fresh pillowcase on the couch and then excuses himself to his room to give Hubert some privacy. 

As he’s changing into his pajamas, Ferdinand swears he can hear the softest knock on his door, and a mumbled _thank you._ By the time he leaves his room, however, Hubert has turned off the living room lights, so Ferdinand quickly brushes his teeth and then heads to bed. 

He watches an episode of a TV show (his favorite baking competition the Great Adrestian Baking Show) on his laptop at a soft volume, listening for any sound of a stirring Hubert over the sound of rain pounding against his bedroom window, but he doesn’t hear anything. Perhaps Hubert has fallen asleep; Ferdinand realizes that he doesn’t know the hours that Hubert keeps, and perhaps even more puzzling, that he _wants_ to know. 

The thought keeps him awake until sleep pulls him under. 

—

The next morning, Ferdinand awakens to the smell of food and sizzling oil. 

It’s strange for a moment, since Ferdinand lives alone, but then he remembers that Hubert slept on his couch last night, so he figures Hubert is making himself breakfast. 

Ferdinand yawns, stretches, and then gets out of bed to put on something other than pajama pants. 

When he emerges from his bathroom in jeans and a white t-shirt, the noises coming from the kitchen have stopped, and as Ferdinand walks into his living room, he sees a nicely set table and realizes— Hubert has cooked breakfast for the two of them. 

There’s a stack of pancakes, fluffy and golden brown, and two place settings at Ferdinand’s dining room table. The papers and books from the night before are sitting in a neat pile on one of the chairs, and Hubert has even set out two glasses of water for the both of them. 

Ferdinand could not be more shocked. His mouth hangs open, dumbly, for many moments. 

“Good morning, Ferdinand,” Hubert says, clearing his throat. “I’ve made us some breakfast.” He is standing by the table, hands clasped behind his back like he’s waiting to serve, shifting his weight back and forth a little awkwardly. It’s the first time Ferdinand has seen him look so… unsure. 

Ferdinand doesn’t know how to respond. Hubert’s wearing his clothes from the night before— a black button up with floral patterns tucked into black skinny jeans, and Ferdinand’s sweats are folded neatly on the couch that Hubert slept on. 

The sunlight beams through the curtain-less window, tracing Hubert’s stark features. Ferdinand watches intensely as Hubert brings one hand to the table in front of him, tracing the grains with his long fingers in slow, swirling patterns. The sight alone of Hubert in the sunlight, standing over a meal he prepared is almost too domestic. It is warm, and lovely, and Ferdinand is utterly taken with him. 

“Goodness Hubert, you shouldn’t have!” Ferdinand beams. “I can’t believe this.”

He sits down at the table, and Hubert follows suit. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay you for your hospitality,” Hubert says. “You didn’t have many ingredients, so I apologize for only being able to provide pancakes.”

Ferdinand laughs. He is not one to eat breakfast at home, usually choosing to grab a bite on campus between his first and second class, so he hardly has any breakfast foods available. It’s a miracle Hubert found enough pancake mix for the two of them. 

“Please don’t apologize. This was so kind of you,” Ferdinand says. 

The microwave beeps and Hubert jumps. He quickly runs to the kitchen to fetch a mug out of the microwave. 

“What’s that?” Ferdinand calls. 

“I heated you some water for tea. I didn’t know what kind you wanted, but I presumed you would want some with breakfast,” Hubert says, bringing over the mug. Ferdinand wants to laugh at Hubert for heating up his water in the microwave, but after everything he has done this morning, Ferdinand graciously accepts the cup and begins to prepare his morning Earl Grey. 

“Really, this is too much,” Ferdinand says, serving himself a few pancakes. Hubert has brought out the syrup as well, one of the few staples Ferdinand keeps in his fridge. 

Hubert shrugs. “I am simply repaying your kindness,” he says, like he thinks nothing of it. 

Ferdinand then wonders if this is nothing more than a transaction to Hubert, a quid pro quo repaying one good deed with another. Ferdinand was not expecting any type of repayment for letting Hubert spend the night, in fact, it was the least _he_ could do, considering Hubert had been indulging in his research and sharing the Political Sciences building with him. 

Sharing spaces was one thing, though, but cooking breakfast? That was an entirely different _thing_ in general. And Ferdinand was beginning to wonder if it meant more to him than Hubert. 

For instance, several times over the course of the meal, Ferdinand catches himself watching Hubert with an intense curiosity. Ferdinand has always been fascinated with Hubert’s fingers— it was the first thing he noticed about Hubert von Vestra in their portrait— but today, Ferdinand finds himself unable to stop staring at them. Watching him maneuver the knife with a delicate precision is captivating, almost mildly erotic. Ferdinand is not sure where these feelings arise from, other than the fact that they do— bubbling up insistently, hotly, making Ferdinand flush and look away.

The man is just eating pancakes, for God’s sake, but Ferdinand feels like he might faint. 

Perhaps it’s the kindness that Hubert is showing, the little bits of it seeping through the cracks of Hubert’s surly exterior, that is the most intoxicating to Ferdinand. The fact that he gets to see a side of Hubert that he knows very few people do. Or, perhaps, it’s the growing friendship between the two men— the hours arguing over theories, the late nights of eye strain and headaches, the moments in between: walking from class together, joking about silly things from their day, commiserating over frustrations. The man Ferdinand originally met on the bench is a distant memory, now, and Ferdinand would go so far as to even call the two of them friends. 

“What do you think of the pancakes?” Hubert asks. Is he self-conscious?

“They are divine. Thank you again, Hubert,” Ferdinand replies, and as Hubert looks down at his plate, lips curling into a tiny, proud smile, Ferdinand realizes that his feelings for Hubert may be further from friendship than he understands. Perhaps, they are starting to look something like love.

Ferdinand stops himself from going down that path, because only _he_ would jump to a conclusion that quickly. There’s something about the way Hubert’s hair brushes over one eye in the gentle morning light that makes his heart quicken, but love? Perhaps that was too strong of an emotion, perhaps—

And then Hubert says, “I’ve never had a sleepover before. My only friend growing up was Edelgard, and my parents didn’t want girls staying the night.”

Ferdinand fights a smile. “Was this a sleepover? We didn’t even play truth or dare.”

Hubert blinks at him, and then his face lights up with the most glorious laughter that Ferdinand has ever heard.

Ah, perhaps it is love, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thank you for reading! I'm excited to bring you all another chapter of this reincarnation AU. It's been lovely reading your comments and talking to people about the little details in the fic that stick out to them, like Hubert's participation in the University Quidditch Team. This chapter is close to my heart, because of the ending, but also because of all of the studying! I spend a lot of time studying in various places around my university, and I have gotten it down to a _science_. I can tell you the best places to study, when they will be the least crowded, and most importantly, where the outlets are.
> 
> It's been a dream of mine for a while to write a "realistic" college AU, documenting my specific college experiences that I don't see represented in media, so it was fun to make these characters become friends over late-night study sessions. Anyways, enough about me!
> 
> Thank you to [Pep](https://twitter.com/PeppiestBismilk) for being the fantastic and enthusiastic beta reader that she is, and thank you all for following this story! Thank you for being patient with me; it's always a pleasure to hear from you each time I update!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand proposes his thesis, and Linhardt makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry for the delay in this chapter— I wanted to have chapters monthly (clearly that did not quite pan out).
> 
> In some other exciting news! I commissioned some art from [@hausofthestars](https://twitter.com/hausofthestars) on Twitter for a scene from the previous chapter, and you can see the artwork [here](https://twitter.com/hausofthestars/status/1333133427328118785?s=20)! I admire his art so much, and I was super excited to be able to commission him!
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to [wishblade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishblade/pseuds/wishblade) for beta-ing this chapter!

In the next few days, Ferdinand does not have the luxury to think about his revelation. He’s too busy preparing for his meeting with his advisor. 

All things considered, he finds it quite helpful. While the delirious clutches of a crush would usually occupy all of his time (mentally and physically), Ferdinand simply does not have any of it to spare. His meeting with his advisor is a big one— he’ll be pitching his senior thesis for approval— and he needs to be prepared. 

It’s because of this that he doesn’t see Hubert for a few days, either, which in its own way is helpful. Ferdinand isn’t sure that he wouldn’t spend all of his time staring and making up scenarios of Hubert suddenly blinking, looking up as if in realization, and leaning over to kiss him. Or something of the like. 

So Ferdinand attends his classes, meetings, and works on his presentation tirelessly, all the while _not_ thinking about Hubert. 

Wednesday morning rolls around, and Ferdinand stands outside of his advisor’s office, rocking on his heels. He’s a little nervous. Dr. Hanneman is his thesis advisor, so they’ve only met a handful of times prior to Ferdinand taking his class. He’s also the head of the history department, so his words hold weight. 

A head pops out from an adjacent door. “Dr. Hanneman is ready for you now!” the department secretary says. “You can go on in.”

Ferdinand nods a thank you and opens the large oaken door. It’s something out of the eighties, with tempered glass and blocked numbers on the window. 

Hanneman’s office is reminiscent of a movie itself, complete with high-backed velvet seats and piles of books lining the floors in front of the bookshelves (which themselves are overflowing with books). There is a large, marble globe standing by itself in the corner of the office, which Ferdinand wonders briefly if it ever is even used, or if it’s solely for decoration. The curtains are drawn across the windows so the light peaks through in dusty, speckled rays. 

“Mr. Baker, delighted to see you,” Dr. Hanneman says from behind his almost comically large desk. “How are you?”

Ferdinand sits down in one of the plush chairs, springs squeaking. “I’m well, thank you for asking. Just the normal amount of stress.”

Dr. Hanneman chuckles. “I would expect nothing less from a student such as yourself! Now then,” he says, clasping his hands together, “I’m excited to dive into your thesis presentation. Please give me the outline of your proposal, and I will give you some feedback.”

Ferdinand pulls up his presentation. Clearing his throat, he begins— the presentation is titled “Interpersonal Relationships Throughout the Ages: A Connected Past,” and the title slide features the portraits of Hubert von Vestra and Ferdinand von Aegir of the first Adrestian Empire. Might as well lay all his cards on the table. That was Hubert’s idea, actually, to feature them so prominently. The memory of their discussion helps soothe some of his nerves.

“Recently, a colleague and I found very convincing evidence of reincarnation, as you can see from these two fellows here. This one actually shares the same name as myself. My colleague, Hubert Rolfe, a fourth year political science major, shares a similar appearance and name to this gentleman named Hubert von Vestra. We were able to find reliable information that these two were a part of the founding nobles in the Adrestian Empire, who served under Emperor Edelgard the first.”

Hanneman’s eyebrows shift slightly, but other than the subtle movement, Ferdinand cannot read his emotions. He powers through the nerves. “Now, as you may know, I have been studying this concept of reincarnation for the past four years, and to find evidence that I, myself, might be a part of a reincarnation line, well, the possibilities are endless.” 

There is an air of excitement, now, charging the room with small, static shocks. Ferdinand just hopes Hanneman can feel it too.

He walks Hanneman through the next few slides. For context, Ferdinand explains the founding of the empire, the lost documents, and how he came to explore this subject. A thorough and detailed presentation, to say the least, but a true academic never assumes how much or little a fellow academic knows. Ferdinand lives by the philosophy that things can never be overexplained.

“Here is the current work I have done for this proposal, on the lives of ten different pairs of individuals I believe to be reincarnates of each other. Going forward, my research would attempt to connect the dots, per say, in order to create a complete reincarnation line. However, we are— I am not sure whether reincarnations are able to skip generations or other periods of time, but so far, the evidence suggests otherwise.” 

Talking about his research without Hubert is difficult. As he slips between _we_ and _I_ , Ferdinand realizes how much of his research, and his life, have become inextricably tangled with his colleague’s. 

“The bulk of my senior thesis, then, would be to determine one full reincarnation line, to the present. While the majority of my work has been looking at historical documents, that is due to the lack of money and resources from the department. I’m hoping that with this proposal, I will be able to apply for funding to conduct informational interviews across campus. If Hubert— my colleague and I were able to find reincarnations of ourselves, it is statistically possible that there are others just beyond our reach— but perhaps, I am getting ahead of myself.” Ferdinand pauses for a sip of water, and then flips to the final slide.

“And finally, future work would include looking at other archival texts and family lines from the lands of Brigid, to see if there are gaps we can fill in, because we haven’t ruled out the possibility that reincarnation events can happen far apart, even separated by countries,” he says. “With funding from the History department, I will be able to explore these possibilities. Now, in terms of my calendar, I hope to finish conducting interviews by the end of this semester—”

“Ferdinand,” Dr. Hanneman interrupts him. “Before you get ahead of yourself— perhaps, we ought to talk about this proposal?”

Ferdinand grins sheepishly. “Of course. I’m sorry, I realize I have not gotten this idea approved yet, but once I do, I think that things will move very quickly, and it is so very like me to plan fifty steps in advance.” 

Dr. Hanneman chuckles, but Ferdinand senses that it isn’t quite genuine. “Well, Ferdinand, that was a very thorough presentation. I have to say, however, that I am skeptical of, well, the validity of these claims. This is such an ambitious topic to cover—”

Ferdinand can’t help himself from butting in. “Yes, and that is why I am choosing it for my senior thesis project! So that I may spend an entire year working on it.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Dr. Hanneman says, shifting in his large desk chair uncomfortably. “But perhaps— perhaps you ought to focus on something less… outlandish?”

Ferdinand is so stunned his words die in his throat. His research is airtight, thorough, articulate, and most importantly, _four years in the making._ “Outlandish?” he croaks, disbelieving. 

Hanneman chuckles again, and this time it's cruel. “Seriously, Ferdinand, did you really expect the department to fund a project like this? Your thesis project needs to be something manageable— to fill a gap in the literature, not propose some—” he gestures, looking for the word “—conspiracy theory, you know?”

His words sting more than a slap in the face. “But this… I worked on this for four years…” Ferdinand whispers, the blood rushing from his face. In all the scenarios he imagined, the worst he’d imagined was a rewrite, another proposal— he never expected to be told _no_.

“Yes, while that was a passion project, it’s your senior year, Ferdinand,” Dr. Hanneman says. “Your previous advisors were content to let you have your fun, but you have been at this university for four years, and as a History student, you are expected to produce a quality piece of literature at publishing quality.”

Ferdinand can only sit there, mouth slightly agape, watching his academic dreams crash and burn in front of his very eyes.

“Perhaps,” Dr. Hanneman continues, stroking his beard. “Perhaps you can still use this previous work. How about this: you can still study the interpersonal relationships between members of the Adrestian court, but how about looking at the dynamics instead? Many of the current canon has assessed the courts from year to year, but it would be interesting to pick two of three from the past thousand years or so and compare the way the courts operated— see what was conserved, what was overthrown, that sort of thing.”

Dr. Hanneman smiles. “See? We can make this work, and you can include the aspects of your court research. It’s a little like reincarnation in its own way, isn’t that right Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand forces a wobbly smile and nods. “That sounds… doable.”

Dr. Hanneman claps his hands together— clearly, in his mind the matter is resolved, having brainstormed a perfect solution that both saves his reputation and “compromises” on Ferdinand’s academic fancies. _Goddess, how embarrassing._

“Now then, have you checked your audit recently? Since you are graduating next semester…” 

He drones on as Ferdinand stews, both ignoring his advisor’s lecture about scheduling registration meetings and fighting the urge to clench his fists till his knuckles turn white. The most stupefying thing of all: how could Dr. Hanneman look at all the evidence— the very portraits of him and Hubert, with striking similarity— and still not understand, still not believe?

And then, a cold fear washes over his body— is this the way everyone else view’s Ferdinand’s research? Could four years of hard work and investigation have led to this: Ferdinand Baker, labeled as a crack scholar?

“Just to wrap up, because my secretary is signaling me,” Dr. Hanneman nods to the door, where another one of Dr. Hanneman’s advisees is likely waiting outside, “you’ll talk to your advisor about registering for the Senior Thesis Independent Study for next semester, six credits, and you’ll get a new proposal by next Friday. How does that sound? I have no doubt that you will get approved in no time, Ferdinand, don’t fret!”

Ferdinand swallows something sour. “Thank you, uh— thank you for your time, Dr. Hanneman,” he says. 

“My pleasure, Ferdinand,” he says with a self-satisfied smug.

Ferdinand doesn’t even acknowledge the other student as he pushes out the door, humiliation flushing his cheeks. 

Feeling dejected, all Ferdinand wants to do is go collapse on his bed for the rest of the day. Hell, he’s feeling bad enough to even take— and he shudders to even think about it— a midday nap. That’s how much Ferdinand wants to face the rest of the world. 

But, _damn_ , he’s supposed to meet Hubert for coffee after his meeting, to talk about the future directions for their research. Goddess, how foolish he’d been. As Ferdinand unlocks his phone to cancel his plans, he sees a missed text from Hubert.

Three missed texts, actually, which is uncharacteristic for Hubert. Hubert double- or even triple-texting is so unusual— well, it’d be like Hubert picking up a landline and calling Ferdinand like it’s the year 2,900. 

**Hubert:** Linhardt has found journals. Important.

 **Hubert:** I know you are in a meeting, but please come at your earliest convent.

 **Hubert:** *convenience

Ferdinand knows it’ll annoy Hubert, but he calls him anyway. “Hubert, hello?”

Hubert picks up after the first ring. “Ferdinand. I assume this is an urgent matter for you to be calling me?”

“Hey, you texted _me—_ nevermind. What have you found? I won’t go into detail, but my meeting with Dr. Hanneman was rather disappointing. I could use some good news.”

Hubert scoffs. “What is it you always say about time being of the essence?” (And despite everything that’s happened, despite Hubert’s tone, Ferdinand cracks a smile at that.) “It would make more sense if I were to explain it to you here. Just come to Lindhardt’s dorm… At your quickest convenience.” 

Despite the beating that his soul took earlier in his advisor’s office, Ferdinand feels hope beginning to seep through the cracks. He hopes this is something good. 

Ferdinand really needs a win.

—

“What did you find?” Ferdinand asks, breathless, but finally in Linhardt’s room. Both Linhardt and Hubert look up from the desk. The door was open a crack, so he just barged in, but the way that Hubert and Linhardt were looking at him, perhaps he should have knocked. 

And then Ferdinand makes eye contact with Hubert, for the first time since he slept over, and Ferdinand is hit with a strange brew of fondness and annoyance, as in, Hubert is both the first and the last person he wants to see. It’s a very odd feeling, not one that Ferdinand would normally associate with a crush.

When Hubert had texted, Ferdinand was excited to see his friend again. But now, with Hubert’s hip cocked stupidly and his eyebrow arched ever so annoyingly, Ferdinand feels a little bit like a 12 year old on a playground, as in, all of his senses are on high alert, _and_ he wants to pick a fight. 

Hubert regards him for a moment, like he’s weighing the pros and cons of making some snide comment about Ferdinand’s manners, but luckily for both of them, he keeps his mouth shut. Thanks to Dr. Hanneman, Ferdinand is about ready to throw hands at the next person who wrongs him. 

Sensing whatever strange tension crackles between Ferdinand and Hubert, Linhardt breaks the semi-awkward silence. “We found journals! Isn't that exciting?”

“Publication journals?” Ferdinand asks. 

Linhardt shakes his head in frustration. “No, no, no— personal journals. Like, private diaries! From Hubert von Vestra himself!”

“Come on, Ferdinand, a journal. I know you have plenty of them lying around your house in disorganized piles,” Hubert says. Ferdinand wants to be mad, but he’s also a little flattered that Hubert mentioned the time they spent at his apartment, especially since Ferdinand holds it so close to his heart. 

Ferdinand crosses his arms over his chest and ignores him, which he knows will insult Hubert more than any response could. “That’s incredible, Linhardt. How did you manage it?”

“My father works at a university in Hevring. They have access to different archives than we do at GMU. I asked him to see if he could find anything related to von Aegir or von Vestra, and he emailed me these scans this morning!” Linhardt’s eyes are shining like Ferdinand has never seen. “I’ve forwarded both of you copies. I would tell you not to distribute it, but seeing as my dad’s already sent it to me through email of all things, I’d say it’s as good as public domain.”

The excitement Ferdinand feels is that of breaking a code, the high of finding that last price of the puzzle. After the morning he’s had, a breakthrough like this— well, perhaps he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. But something like _this_ , primary source literature, he can’t help but echo the energy Linhardt gives off. 

Only Hubert looks… well, like himself. 

“I thought you would be more excited about this,” Ferdinand says, sitting on Linhardt’s desk chair to pull out his computer. “Seeing as this is you in a former life. Or does it take more than that to sway the stoic Hubert Rolfe?”

Hubert sits down on the ground, pulling opening his laptop as well. “I am excited. Can’t you tell?” He asks facetiously. Ferdinand has half a mind to stick his tongue out at the man, but the way Linhardt is looking at him makes him think better of it. There is nothing more telling of a crush than deliberately pushing someone’s buttons, but even further than that, Ferdinand can’t think of anything more childish than sticking his tongue out. 

Linhardt would surely find out. He’s just perceptive like that. And it’s not like Ferdinand wants people finding out he has a crush on— he glances over at Hubert’s bangs, covering one eye, and his chipping black nail polish— well, all of that. 

Ferdinand clears his throat. “Do you mind if we look into this now, Linhardt? I don’t want to interrupt.” Hubert, too, looks up expectantly. 

Lindhart shrugs. “Not at all. In fact, I was just going to lay down for a nap. Don’t mind me.”

Hubert looks a little offended. Ferdinand knows the two don’t get along well, but put up with each other for Ferdinand’s sake.

Even though Linhardt’s eyes are closed, it’s like he can feel Hubert’s stare. “What? I already read them,” he says, before turning over and falling swiftly into sleep. 

And then Hubert and Ferdinand are alone once more, aside from the slumbering body of Linhardt, snoring softly. 

What was once before a comfortable silence seems now fraught with electricity, threatening to spark at any moment. Ferdinand feels tense and on edge, like any move he makes is being watched. Hubert himself seems to have a massive presence that takes up most of the small room. Ferdinand can’t stop his eyes from being drawn towards him. 

He tries, instead, to focus on the journal entries. Written in long, sloping script, it’s hard to distinguish the letters from each other at times, and Ferdinand spends half of the time trying to parse out the individual words and half reading and comprehending. It’s slow going, but material like this, it’s a game -hanger. Even if it takes a little longer to decipher, Ferdinand doesn’t mind the extra work. It’s worth it. 

Hubert is taking his own notes as well in a thin black moleskin, and Ferdinand observed that the handwriting of the living Hubert is very similar to his predecessor’s, although slightly more legible. 

Ferdinand works through a few more passages, the content of the journal distracting him from his Hubert conundrum. 

> _21 Garland Moon 1187_
> 
> _It is perhaps the slowest day of the moon, and yet, Hypatia has not found a free moment to join me for tea. Concerning the treatise of Locke, I must say, I am profoundly at a loss— perhaps I will pass it on to Carlisle (he’d find pleasure in that)..._

Hubert von Vestra must be writing in code names, because none of the people he mentions in his writing have come up in either of their research. It’s also possible that the former right hand of the throne had more contacts than Ferdinand was privy to, but it seemed unlikely, considering the way the names repeated, over and over, throughout the journal pages. 

> _3 Blue Sea Moon 1187_
> 
> _It seems like the seeds from Brigid have just arrived, although cultivating them with these scant instructions will require exceptional skill. Perhaps this task was foolhardy to approach, however, if the Zynthia grows in this climate, then we will have made great strides in this particular corner of botany. Carlise came by this evening, bearing news of a foal born in the stable. Together, we walked to see the creature, magnificent in birth, already standing on four legs. Would that humans could too, progress this quickly, perhaps we’d save countless hours of time..._

Some entries were written as letters, and those were the ones Ferdinand takes the greatest interest in. 

> _14 Wyvern Moon 1187_
> 
> _Would that I could tell you how I truly feel, my heart would, perhaps, ease in its suffering for one moment._
> 
> _Each day weighs heavy upon me, but, and forgive me for how cliche this sounds— the light of your smile can drive away my demons, if only for a small time. There are many things that lurk in the shadows of my vision, but with you, I do not feel as though I need to be on edge._
> 
> _For you, my boundaries weaken._
> 
> _However will I continue?_

Wait a moment— Ferdinand scans over the passage again, consulting his legible notes with the entry, double-checking the words. The sentences are fraught with longing, a type of hidden, burning desire. 

It is jarring, to say the least, to find something so close to a love confession tucked among Hubert von Vestra’s writing. Whereas most of his entries are about the minutiae of every-day court life, or gardening techniques, or treatises— goddess, how many treatises can one man oversee?— this entry has a different tone, as do the rest that are written in this epistolary form. Strange. 

Perhaps he is projecting, or perhaps something has been lost in translation, but Ferdinand sneaks a glance at Hubert, who has stopped writing altogether. His eyes are not scanning the laptop screen like Ferdinand would expect, but instead are paused, staring at one line, perhaps, or one word. 

Ferdinand clears his throat. “Find anything interesting?” He asks. 

Hubert seems to blink himself out of his thoughts and back into the dorm room. “No, not yet,” he says slowly. “I’m assuming you have, though?”

Ferdinand smiles a bit, because Hubert can read him a little too well for having known each other just over a month. “Perhaps. I think our dear Marquis von Vestra has a bit of a crush.”

Ferdinand avoids saying Hubert’s name, because the comparison might be a bit uncomfortable. It’s a fine line to walk, after all. 

Even still, there is a trace of warm flush underneath Hubert’s collar, red and alluring. “Oh?” Is all he asks, eyes averted. 

“Potentially. Go to page 34, and read the entry under 14 Wyvern Moon,” Ferdinand says. 

Hubert scrolls and then settles, quickly skimming the entry. It seems like he is able to read his predecessor’s handwriting quite easily. 

After a moment, he leans back from his laptop. “Well,” he says. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“How so?”

“There is another letter. Page 82,” Hubert says. “I couldn’t understand it at first, but with this context, it brings new meaning.”

“Goddess, Hubert, you read so quickly,” Ferdinand quips, scrolling through the text to find the page. 

“I started reading from the end.”

Ferdinand finds the entry— it's short, yet poignant. He understands why Hubert would have been confused by its meaning at first.

> _24 Guardian Moon 1187_
> 
> _You are my jewel, sparkling brightly in the orange glow of the fire’s embers, rivaled only by myself._

He reads it twice and then, “Oh my— I know who he is talking about!” he says, the realization hitting him like a stack of library books. 

“You do?” Hubert asks, and then, “I’m not sure how this is relevant to our investigation, but I have to admit, from reading about this fellow, I didn’t expect him to take a lover.”

As cringe-worthy as it was that Hubert still used the word “lover” to talk about romantic relationships, Ferdinand is too excited about his epiphany to comment. 

“Hubert von Vestra— he is in love with the Duke, Ferdinand von Aegir!” He says excitedly. 

For a moment, Hubert just looks at him. Ferdinand holds his breath. It’s as close to a confession as they may ever get— the knowledge that, in a past life, Hubert loved him. And that meant that maybe this Hubert could love him in this life, as well. Perhaps that is too forward-thinking, but Ferdinand is an optimist, even if it’s to a fault sometimes. 

He realizes that Hubert has been quiet a moment too long. It’s not like Ferdinand accused him of something, even though Hubert and his predecessor, in theory, are the same person. But what was so accusatory about being in love?

After a moment, Hubert lets out a slow breath. “Why do you think that?” He asks, his voice careful. 

Ferdinand’s brow furrows. “The evidence is overwhelming! Look at this letter— he refers to his loved one as a “jewel,” and von Aegir and von Vestra were known as the “Two Jewels” of the Empire,” he explains. “Plus, look at the use of this word “unrivaled”— we know that the two men had a rivalry sometime in their life, from various accounts of them during their time in and before the academy. This is clearly an allusion to that!”

Another piece of evidence jumps off the page. “Oh! And, see here how Hubert uses the imagery of firelight to describe the way that the light illuminates the jewel. Who else do we know that has orange hair, just like firelight?” 

_Not unlike myself_ goes unsaid, but perhaps there are too many parallels to their own lives for Hubert’s comfort. 

Ferdinand’s voice seems to ring out in the small confines of the dormitory, and for a moment, Linhardt stirs, but he does not waken from his slumber. The room lapses into silence once again. 

“Perhaps,” Hubert says, finally, “Although the last piece of evidence is a stretch.”

“It is a bit of a stretch,” Ferdinand concedes, a small smile tugging on his lips. 

“I do have to say, your logic, however manic, does make some sense,” Hubert says. He checks his watch. “I shall have to look at more of the journals, but for now, I need to leave for a meeting.”

Ferdinand checks the time. His next class doesn't start for another half hour, but he also feels a bit intrusive staying in Linhardt’s space as he naps. “I will walk you out, then,” he offers. 

The two of them pack up their things, and despite Hubert’s arguing, Ferdinand leaves a small note thanking Linhardt again for his help. Hubert rolls his eyes, but signs the note anyway with a long and thin, very Hubert-esque signature. 

Once out of the building, Hubert asks, “How did your meeting go this morning?”

For a brief, blissful hour, Ferdinand had forgotten all about his disastrous meeting with Dr. Hanneman— that is, until this moment. He sighs. 

“Not well. He called my proposal a conspiracy theory, and suggested that I focus on a new topic,” he says. 

It’s nice to see Hubert look as indignant as he feels. “How could he possibly— with the evidence right in front of him?” 

His reaction is vindicating, even when Hubert (jokingly) makes a quip about Ferdinand not presenting it well. 

“I was really hoping for that funding,” Hubert continues. “But we will make do some other way. Perhaps we do not need the history department as much as we thought we did.”

Ferdinand stops walking. “You… Are you sure you want to keep working on this project?” Ferdinand asks. Today was exciting, but after getting rejected from the university, the research would have to be driven by the two of them, without any external support. Ferdinand chews his bottom lip. It was relatively easy to convince Hubert to help him when this was an academic pursuit, but now… well, who’s to say?

“Oh please, Ferdinand, you would not think me so fragile? I have never once cared for what this university thinks,” Hubert scoffs. “Besides, this is bigger than just research— this was my life, and yours. That itself is motivation enough.”

“Well, that is very— that’s good to hear,” Ferdinand says, feeling a bit overwhelmed with gratitude. “Shall we continue our meetings, then?”

“I would be amenable to that,” Hubert says.

He splits off, then, with a little wave, and as Ferdinand watches him go, he is struck by an image, so specific he can see it clearly in his mind: one of two rivers, splitting at a fork and yet endlessly joined, destined to flow into the same sea— to find each other once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you ever want to talk about ferdibert, you can find me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters)


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